by tashmcgill | Dec 9, 2014 | Community, Leadership, Spirituality
It’s rare that I would choose to comment on current news in this forum. But I will today, because the last 48 hours or so have been truly abhorrent. When my friend David Hayward posted a supportive Facebook comment regarding Jim Marjoram this evening, it confirmed my conviction that this is worth taking a stance on. The reason why I’m writing about this? I’ve seen many pastors and friends post Facebook updates of sympathy, compassion and outrage but not address some of the underlying issues with the occurences of the last few days. But the most unreasonable thing has gone unnoticed, without comment from so many. Of 400 opportunities, only 1 voice responded and was heard. That voice was an embarrassment, a reminder of a broken humanity. Why so silent, 399? Why so quient? It’s easy to be outraged when somebody says something nonsensical, but the other, more justifiable atrocity is right under our noses and nobody has said a thing.
Here’s the short version of what’s happened to date:
- Jim Marjoram is a courageous man, trying to walk a reconciled life between his sexuality and a fundamental religion that would often rather not deal with him
- He wrote a book, called ‘It’s Life, Jim’
- His story deserves honour and attention
- He emailed details of the book to about 400 churches in NZ
- He got one response, that I won’t repeat here
- His courage and bravery should never have been treated with such disdain
- It’s a tragedy that this was the only response received from the broader Christian community
- This is absolutely not the ideal marketing solution
There are many Christians and people of faith who have been outraged in recent days by the words and actions of the self-proclaimed pastor of a church called Westcity Bible Baptist Church in Auckland, New Zealand. You can read more from media outlets about the story here and here.
Update: One of the most important points I want to make is that there is a lack of strategy in how this email came out, which means that the Church needs to think carefully and well about how to respond, so that the current voice is not the only voice heard. A number of Christian leaders have responded to Jim personally, as well as reaching out to Logan Robertson. Bravo. The Baptist Church of New Zealand has made an official statement – which I commend.
Here’s the summary. Jim is gay and Christian. He’s been both activist and grace demonstrator over the years that I have known of him, his activities and his relationships with many that I respect and love. He recently published a book that ought to be embraced with open arms by the mainstream Church – his story of being both gay and Christian. You can purchase it here and you should, because these stories are important and should be honoured. His story is one of trying to find reconciliation between sexuality and spirituality, two aspects of humanity that should rarely be separated.
Jim sent an email promoting the book to churches in New Zealand to support the release. He received one response: an independent, fundamentalist pastor who stated his desire that the author would commit suicide. When interviewed by news media, Pastor Logan Robertson reported that although not something he would want to do, he believed the Government should put homosexuals to death.
Not affiliated with the Baptist Union of New Zealand (an organisation with which I have been and remain an advocate); this person has managed to unveil a number of crucial lessons that all reasonable human beings ought to consider.
Here’s the frustration for me.
Lesson #1. For the Church – Did No One Pay Attention?
Are you freaking kidding me that this was the only response Jim received? 400 churches on the email list and no one had the presence of mind, the compassion or even the good conscience to reply to his email? Granted, I can’t speak for the elapsed time between when the email was sent and the ‘nil reply’ measure given, nor the quality of the list (I’ll come back to that) – but when the voice of Christianity is left in the hands of the minority, there is little ground to stand on for people to be horrified. I am deeply appalled that at a time when we ought to be able to embrace these stories with grace, compassion and interest – it appears there was no room at the inn for Jim’s story. A crushing blow, in the Advent season. There is no blame to be placed at the feet of the media for giving attention to the story, the worst part is that Logan Robertson’s voice was the only one to respond. In defence; many pastors receive hundreds of emails a week promoting a variety of Christian books, products and services. It’s very probable that many did not read the email. This does relate to the next point, regarding strategy.
Lesson #2. For Marketers – Did No One Check The List?
This will be highly impolitic to say, however, this appears to be appalling marketing practice. If a blanket email inbox dump is your best strategy, then it comes as no surprise that a unvetted, unchecked email list created such controversy. There’s a lesson in this for all would-be and professional marketers – when you’re dealing with a bespoke and important message, you better have a clear idea about who and where you’re sending that message. I wish that I’d had the chance to work with Jim on the strategy around the book release, because common sense rationalises the risk of sending unsolicited direct email to anybody, let alone regarding a topic bound to send chills down the spine of an Independent Baptist. Sound direct marketing and email marketing principles exist for a reason as aptly demonstrated by the complete mismatch of audience and message here. Whilst this might seem like trivialization, it’s really not because people are guilty of this kind of negligence every day. Regardless of what minor side benefit might be gained from the publicity in current form, the message of the book is now tainted with an altogether different message.
Lesson #3. For Activists – Don’t Stop Being Brave.
Realistically speaking, there is every chance that Jim’s book and his story may have largely passed under the radar of the average New Zealand Christian or the average New Zealand gay person. I’m really glad that this story made a way to the front page news because it matters that we stop tolerating this. I’m relieved to hear and see other Christian leaders publicly admonishing this young man because it matters so much, that the rest of NZ society understands we don’t share a single view on this. I’m also sad for Logan, because this kind of public statement is extraordinarily hard to recover from with an equal sense of public humiliation. We need people like Jim and others I know, who are brave enough to take these first steps to say publicly, ‘I will be both gay and Christian’, in order to educate, prove and disprove the lingering questions that may exist. That is activism – to prove something with your own life.
A Challenge In Conclusion
Believe what you will about sexuality and it’s expression alongside spirituality. My stand is simple. If you are remotely sympathetic to the Christian faith and you haven’t worked out which side of this story you would choose to stand on, you’ve got some stuff to work out. I’ll happily have those conversations with you – but there is no space in any kind of Gospel story or values I know that has room for the bigotry and hatred demonstrated in this man’s words over the last few days.
If you are a Christian, particularly if you are a leader in a Christian community – I challenge you to do more than simply express your sympathy or your shame in a Facebook post or a tweet. Engage your people in the conversation about restoring grace and humanity to those whose spirituality has been somehow overshadowed by their sexuality. Do more than give words.
Lastly; if you or someone you know is experiencing a sense of displacement or confusion in their faith or relationship with faith communities – may I recommend thelastsupper.com to you? You’ll find a community of people who are welcoming, vulnerable and honest. You’ll also find a leader and pastor in David, who is compassionate and remarkable.
by tashmcgill | Dec 8, 2014 | Leadership, Mind, Strategy
There are three stumbling blocks that prevent me hitting the publish button or sometimes even picking up the pen, metaphorical or otherwise.
They are three questions.
Can I do this well enough and will it be good enough?
Can I make it and let it go out into the world?
Can I show this much of myself to the world, will anybody care?
These are questions designed to help me avoid risk. Which is stupid, because if I want to be in the business of ‘making’, then I want to be in the business of risking myself in vulnerable ways. I know that it’s stupid, so I thought I’d share my strategy for avoiding the trap.
There will always have to be bad writers, for they answer to the taste of the immature, undeveloped age-group; these have their requirements as well as do the mature. —-Nietzche
I hate the idea of not being good at what I do. Regardless of what I’m doing. My pride does cartwheels in the tension of doing something new without knowing whether it will be good. Logically, I understand that in order to be good, I must risk being other-than-good; but every time I open the page to write or try a new recipe, the process begins again.
Why is it sometimes hard to write? Because the risk is so great that it won’t be any good. That it will be too honest, too vulnerable. That people won’t engage or respond or understand me. So the questions run through my mind and my desire to avoid risk stops me in my tracks.
The better way to answer these questions is in editing, refining, fine tuning and optimizing. In my business, it’s called the process of iteration. We make something, we learn, we craft, we make it better. We make it again.
Will it be good enough? becomes How can it be better?
The other questions are not about the creation but about the creator. Ouch. Even in talking about vulnerability I have to be vulnerable.
I find myself wondering how those flawed and tuneless auditions for TV singing competitions make it to air – with all that bravado and self-confidence. It appears that there is no pride or ego to filter the risky and non-risky behaviours.
I’m learning that if I want to be truly vulnerable (and I do, because it seems to matter and connect more with people), I have to de-tune my ego too. I have to put away my pride and concern.
The easiest way I have learned to do this is by facing the consequences of risking something big. Really, in being more vulnerable than I want to be, I’ve learned that it is really not so bad. There’s not a single moment that I truly regret. A few painful bumps, for sure, but that’s to be expected as the rough edges are smoothed away.
It might sound a little mad, but truly – in being a little braver, in saying a little more, in choosing not to edit away the thought, the moment, the possibility.. I’ve learned that it’s rarely as bad as I thought. Mostly, I’m afraid of feeling hurt, feeling bad or feeling ashamed or embarrassed when my ego starts talking.
These ego-driven, risk-averse questions stop me from starting. Starting is the step that produces raw product that can be shaped, redrawn, remade, improved until it’s ready for the world. I can only be a writer, a maker, a speaker or a creator if I begin.
Here’s the strategy to overcome the questions:
Accept that the risk does not exist.
Until you make something, there is nothing that risk can be attached to. Once something is made and re-made, it is no longer dependant on you. It may carry the reflection of the maker, but it is a separate entity. So the risk (to your ego) does not exist.
So just make something, damn it. The risk is the art itself, the risk is the proof that you are creating something unique and authentic.
Read more about Makers here.
by tashmcgill | Nov 7, 2014 | Culture & Ideas, Leadership, Strategy
“A leader is a dealer in hope.” Napoleon Bonaparte.
By all accounts, Bonaparte was such a contradictory character that it is hard to imagine he inspired much hope or empathy with those he led. Yet, he led hundreds of thousands with a vison of triumph. His words are still true today. Whether you promise or deliver a vision of an alternative future (which eventually you must, or perish as Bonaparte’s men did); you are dealing in hope.
(more…)
by tashmcgill | Oct 26, 2014 | Culture & Ideas, Leadership, Mind, Strategy
It’s Friday night at 6.01pm. I’ve just clocked out 43 hours in a 4 day work week. I’m about to go to dinner to celebrate a friend’s birthday. I’ve managed to see friends a couple of times this week, smashed fewer than usual gym sessions but still lost weight. I’ve meditated, left room for spiritual things and even caught up on a favourite TV show. I’ve eaten right, but not too right. I’ve been well-behaved but not too well-behaved. I even managed to do an early morning daycare run for one of my best friends; playing aunty to their 2 year old girl. And I’m telling you honestly, if this is my life, this is not enough.
This is not about being too busy. This is not about being tired or trying to achieve higher heights at work. This is not about the tension between the corporate career life I’m in and the not-for-profit, youthwork and hospitality life I love. This is not to complain because I know I’m blessed. It’s not because I’m lonely or pining for what I don’t have. I am wringing the marrow out of life on a daily basis. But this is not enough.
I live between two conflicting philosophies; one that compels me to use whatever I’ve got in my hand to do whatever is in front of me and the other, calling my attention to the horizon and all the possibilities beyond it. One hand holds tight and says, ‘be good, be useful’. One hand reaches out towards what might be and says, ‘be more, do more’.
I have to get comfortable telling the truth, to myself as well as others.
No matter how hard I work at my job and how much better I can be, or how much I achieve,
(with strengths and weaknesses)
No matter how rich and deep the social circle,
(too good already)
No matter the gracious chance to love other people’s kids,
(I’m so grateful)
No matter how healthy or strong or skinny I might become,
(with all the trappings of vanity)
This is not enough.
I am a Futurist, as well as a few other things. I’m always looking to the future possibilities and trying to figure out how to get there. But that’s not why this is not enough. It’s not enough because these things are meaningful for other people, not for me.
I’ve come to know that I work better when I am part of a team, because I find meaning in the dependency that we have on one another. It propels me forward. It gives me a story to tell, a story that is ours. It’s not always easy to form a team or to form a team that has shared meaning and story but it’s even harder to be one person who’s lost the meaning of their own story.
I once had a singular focus and ambition and I’ve spent a few years now trying to find my meaning in other stories and in new places only to circle back around.
I can only imagine that this is close to what some mothers feel, when their careers and life paths change to centre around newborn babies and growing children. A re-orientation, losing a sense of self while becoming part of a new team. Sudden, the story of our kids tends to be centre stage.
So this, what defines my life right now – is not enough, simply because it’s not the story I want to tell at the end of my days. Or even today. The meaning I’m after (the ambition that has simply been buried and biding it’s time) is still the same. The values that drive me are still deep at the core of who I am and the story I want to tell.
I wrote a collection of these lines in 2008:
there are the dark days
that cloud the mind right from the start
there are the eulogies i compose
melodies i’ve learned to sing
by heart when i’m alone
afraid my life might be a song of sorrows
unless i find the meaning
there is a quietness that i have never shaken
a terrifying absence and conviction
that most of what i dream will never come to pass
i imagine life too big before i start
but my ambition is to make a difference
as large a one as i might ever conceive
if my name is never known
the ambition is the same
i’d make a difference in your heart
i’ve read ten thousand names
and whispered them aloud
i’ve spent long nights awake
perfecting every part
i’ve listened to the heartbeat
of a thousand lives
and heard the same refrain
and my ambition is to make a difference
collecting all the stories my life is made of
and if i could somehow remember all their names
my ambition was to make a difference
and their names would make the finest start
The truth is, I do want more. Maybe it’s because I want to have children of my own to invest in and it could be that’s selfish. But I also want to make a difference to the world at large. I don’t want or need fame, but I crave influence – to enable change for the many. I’m ambitious enough to believe I could do it. In fact, in my deepest secret self, I believe I’m meant to, somehow, be part of something bigger and more significant than my life alone.
At high school we completed the clichè ‘write your own eulogy’ assignment. I wrote simply, ‘She made us think differently.’
I still want that, and so this is not enough.
by tashmcgill | Oct 23, 2014 | Culture & Ideas, Leadership, Strategy
“You just kind of run on instinct,” he said, “but that has to be validated. People can’t just take your word for it.”
It was a late afternoon conversation with a colleague and I was informing him of progress on a current project. I mentioned that I’d put that progress in a presentation deck ‘because I’ve been told people will take me more seriously that way’. He replied immediately, “Yes, it will help. You just kind of run on instinct, but that has to be validated. People can’t just take your word for it. Other people don’t just wing it like you do.”
While I’m almost certain it wasn’t his intention, I felt belittled. It’s frequently surprising to me, how one little paragraph can leave you feeling so … misunderstood. Instinct is not about gut feelings. Or even feelings at all. We might use that language to express ourselves, but Instinct is a science. Instinct alone is not a complete solution to understanding people or what must be done. It’s a tool that gives insight, but it must be applied alongside pragmatism, strategy and with a dose of compassion if Instinct is to get you anywhere at all.
The subtext of his statement was that instinct is somehow not an equal science (artform) to rationalization. A repeat of the centuries old tension between the Schools of Humanities and Sciences, despite both originating from the foundation. The rational view is that because Instinct is harder to define and quantify, it cannot be as reliable or as trustworthy as the other sciences. Instinct is something more primal than our civilised, evolved selves. This is far from the truth, however.
Instinct is as much as a science as mathematical theory. It is the collective noun we give to layers of distinct and meticulous habit, discipline and skill. It is a finely tuned practice of reading the visible and aural signals that human beings give one another. It is listening for the minutiae and tracing countless details about people, projects, relationships, influences, priorities.
Mostly, it is about understanding and knowing how to observe and engage with people, both as individuals and more challengingly in a room of people. It is about filtering important information from really important information and disregarding the trivial.
The trouble with Instinct, is that it is a science masquerading as a mystery. People with these skills can turn up into a room with little context or history and make enormous progress in single meetings, because they are tuned in to decipher what people want and what people have to give. What appears to be pulling something out of thin air, is actually closer to extracting what was sitting there all the time. Sometimes Instinct just helps you articulate it with people, or for people.
Why is it that salespeople sometimes have that ‘pull it out of thin air’ appearance? Why someone thinks I’m ‘winging it’ in a meeting room? Because the science of instinct is rarely a visible one. It’s mapping the details of what you see and hear at a million miles an hour, against what you already know and what you understand people want. It’s about seeing the connections, visible and invisible. It’s the observation that will tell you who the powerful people in a room are. Observing how they engage and interact will teach you how to approach, gauge and influence them. In the same way no-one is born with fully-formed speech, you cannot expect to have good Instinct, if you do not practice and craft the skills required to execute it. You cannot simply ‘turn up and perform’.
Most rational sciences you can teach to people with formulas and technical examples. But how do you teach someone to see or teach them to listen? Really, how do you? I have tried to explain how I am listening and observing in a room. It gets too complicated far too fast, but I understand that I must come to understand it, if I am to explain it.
How do we explain it?
There are all sorts of words for instinct. We call it intuition (I am highly intuitive on the Myers-Briggs scale), awareness, being tuned in. The more spiritual you are, the less rational and scientific your vocabulary for instinct is likely to be. Words like prophetic and healer appear. And while some people are wired with empathy, to read and respond to emotions and circumstances around them, the truth is sometimes the most emotionally disengaged have the best instincts around. Divulged of their own emotional entanglement to a situation, they can comprehend the information in front of them most appropriately.
When we make decisions because we ‘feel it was right’, often that means we have layered in our own conscience, our fears or agendas, our hopes or our risks. Instinct is collecting clues and paying close attention to where they map together and belong.
Spiritual abusers and manipulators are often masters of Instinct, seeing exactly where vulnerabilities exist to be taken advantage of. Many false spiritual leaders have enjoyed how instinct masquerades as mystery, in order to propagate their own mythology.
Instinct Is Fallible
Lastly, if anything solidifies instinct as a science, the sheer fallibility of it does. The finest instincts can be taken by surprise, miscalculate the signals and falter when it ought to stand firm.
So you train and develop your instincts in every setting, the same way you would to go to war. Work them, stretch them, test them. Recognize that you are a practitioner of a science and Instinct is something you should work hard for.
Then, one last thing. Respect those who have invested time and energy to fine tune their instincts. It’s not a strength that stands alone but when added to your talent pool, it can make a difference. When someone says, ‘that person has good instincts, let’s get them on the team,’ it’s because they know how to close a sale, how to progress a job, how to bring people together and how to listen well. They decipher the fantasy from the reality. You need them, even if it feels like their science is a mystery to you.
by tashmcgill | Oct 21, 2014 | Church, Culture & Ideas, Leadership, Spirituality
My commitment to my community was questioned the other day. People wondering whether or not I was ‘all-in’ were finding it tough to entrust me with some influential positions. It was diplomatically posed: if you’re not here (present) with us, how do we know if you’re really with us (committed)? The exact phrase was ‘people have the sense that if you’re not doing something here, you’re not always around’. The subtext: how much of you being here is about us, and how much is about you?
Right across society, it’s usually those who demonstrate their commitment and loyalty that earn the right to be influential. Our commitment to being present is a show of loyalty. Particularly in churches, there are lots of ways you can be involved, but you have to be ‘all-in’ in order to have influence. But what does ‘all-in’ really mean?
It’s how we test Ambition. People want to know how much you’ll give before you want or need to get something back. Most people want influence and power. In the church, that looks like positions of authority, which usually come with microphones.
Think about it. People who demonstrate how ‘all in’ they are, tend to wind up in influential positions. We’ve created a culture where you have to earn your way into those positions; for lots of reasons.
Good reasons
- If you’re going to be endorsed or giving a position of influence, you’ve to got to be trustworthy
- We don’t want you to influence in an unwise direction
Bad reasons
- Those with influence don’t always like to share
- People don’t like to be outshone or overshadowed
- To maintain the chain of command
- No chief wants to give influence to anyone who might not be loyal
We create systems to ensure that trustworthy people make it through the hoops and untrustworthy people fall out. The trouble is, it’s easy to abuse those systems to make sure that only people who’ve proven their loyalty sufficiently make it through. But loyal to what? You ask me if I’m all-in, but what do you want me to be all-in to?
What does ‘all-in’ really mean?
I’m all-in to the purpose of making a good change. I was raised to make a difference and I take it pretty seriously. I’m all-in to being the best I can be, in the place where I’m likely to make the most difference. And often, I don’t find those places inside the Church. For lots of reasons.
Here are 5 times I was All-In
- I was preparing to take teenagers to Eastercamp instead of the church prayer event.
- I was at the 21st of a young person who’s like family instead of church conference.
- I went from the Maundy Thursday service to the corner bar and talked about the meaning of Passover with friends
- I helped a single mum and her 4 small kids move house instead of being at church that weekend.
- I had a house full of teenagers watching movies and making food, instead of being at Sunday night church.
I don’t spend much time actively pursuing the pulpit. I’ll never turn it down, but I don’t intend to chase it. I’d rather have my life and actions speak of meaning and purpose. Because I love to communicate, I relish the opportunity to share my observations and conversations with others. I’ll spend my time engaging in meaningful conversation, always prepared to do my bit for the Church, but I won’t be there for the sake of being there, if my sense of purpose is beckoning me somewhere else.
Here’s the truth – there are hundreds of people in the pews every Sunday, Thursday and Friday who will give their all to the Church at the cost of places where they could be more meaningful. Church services are often club sessions for people who feel comfort from being with the like-minded to be encouraged, affirmed, you name it. It’s a good thing. But it shouldn’t be the ultimate expression of our faith.
In fact, I’d go so far to say that the goodness I want to bring to the earth, has little to do with my church affliation and much more to do with the fulfilment of my identity as a whole person. I’d hate for anyone who has known me to reduce my actions on this earth to “well, that’s what those Church folks do.” Because there are not that many church people living how I live or doing what I do.
I spend my time pursuing people. People at my dinner table, people in the important stages of their lives, people in trouble, people in the world and sometimes people in the pews.
- The Church encouraged me to be in the world, making a difference. So I’m out there.
- The Church taught me that it’s important to serve. I did dozens of tests to figure out my gifts. I’ve been made to serve, so working is both giving back and fulfilment of all I was taught to be.
- Busyness is also an answer to loneliness. Being present with nothing to do highlights my loneliness in ways that don’t help me. Doing something meaningful with my presence is good for me.
I’m all-in. Are you?
