I have devoted much of my professional life to listening to the problems, concerns, and secrets of others. It has been my honor. Listening can be exhausting work. I think all of us are called to listen at different times. The difference in listening as a profession and listening as an avocation may well be how much the listener can stand! Most of us like to think that we listen effectively, but the amount of conflict on this earth seems to be a valid means with which to dispute this.
Bill Rose, the gentleman in the accompanying photo, was a neighbor, dear friend, and an avid listener. Our “Starbucks Moments” gave me much in which to look forward. Was Bill a “professional listener?” No. Was he a kind soul with my best interest at heart? Absolutely. Good listening requires a focus, symbolized by Bill’s concentration on the subject of his camera lens in the picture. Bill and I shared a love for my hometown, Charlotte, and we would sit with our java and hammer the world’s problems on the battlefields of Dilworth, Sedgefield, or Cotswold in Charlotte. Can you tell that we solved them all? Bill’s gift to me was the gift of presence. Bill was called to listen (at least to me), and I miss him. Bill and I spent many hours recalling Charlotte’s past. Who had the best fries, Zack’s or South 21? Which mall: Charlottetown, Eastland, or SouthPark? Cotswold Shopping Center, Eastway Shopping Center, or Park Road Shopping Center? We reminisced about Bailey’s Cafeteria in Cotswold, The Barclay Cafeteria in Amity Gardens, the S&W Cafeterias, Green’s Lunch, Price’s Chicken Coop, the Capri Theatre (my first job), Charlottetown Cinema, the Manor Theatre, and so on. We had fun, responsive conversations because we listened to each other. Do you have someone who listens to you, someone that has your best interest at heart? That, incidentally, would be someone who listens without interruption or judgment. It really isn’t helpful for most of us to receive unsolicited, highly-emotive advice from “friends” or family. We do better, they do better (whether they are aware of it or not), and the relationship fares better when we listen with the attention due the other, absent a need for corrections or evaluation. Are we listening? How can we do better?
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Once in a while, we get it right: We lead from principle, which is to say, we are not prone to compromising our core values. We also get it right when we lead with kindness. Frequently, leaders in our society have chosen either not to value kindness or have lost the ability to lead with kindness; either way, the leadership of kindness has become scarce. We must get it back.
When we “lead” through lack of civility, we instantly abdicate whatever authority might have been there in the first place. I hope you will be different if you are being called to lead. I pray that one of your trademarks will be generosity. The world needs it. Certain elements of society, and we see this today at the pinnacle of our government, see kindness as weakness. This is a rookie mistake of the first order. It just so happens that we can be commanding, principled, firm, and yes—charitable. Five years ago, I had the pleasure of the benefit of exceptional leadership. My clinical supervisor at the time, The Rev. Dr. Larry Easterling, was one of those “different” leaders, the kind that didn’t need to employ malice or spite to do his job effectively; the type of leader that our society is screaming for. Larry was challenging yet fair; theologically profound yet clear and accessible in his communication. Good leaders were usually good followers. Larry, a veteran of the Peace Corps, had to have been a good follower to have achieved his level of style and leadership. Some people are not called to lead, and that’s fine. Being a good follower is a wonderful gift. If, however, the call to leadership comes your way, be kind; be accessible. Be different. It will reflect your strength in leadership. Anyone can be nasty. We’ve had enough of that. Should the call to lead ring your bell, be like my friend Larry. Be exceptional, and never forget that others are watching, taking notes, and might be writing about you someday. It pays for each of us who lead, will lead, or have led to remember the Golden Rule (Matthew 7:12). We are human and unable to achieve it every time but it should be our objective. Are you being called to lead? What is your idea of good leadership? Brian Piccolo was a Chicago Bears team member from 1965-1969. For men like me, Piccolo left a path to follow, and I was called to emulate him in more ways than one. During his tenure with the Bears, Piccolo developed embryonal cell carcinoma, an uncommon form of a rare type of cancer: testicular cancer. During his senior year at Wake Forest University in 1964, Piccolo led the nation in rushing. He was considered too small to play professionally, something to which I can relate. Coach George Halas signed him anyway.
As the 1967 season approached, the Bears executive staff asked Piccolo and star running back Gayle Sayers if they would be willing to room together (for a glimpse of the “Magic” that was Gayle Sayers in his prime, view this 30-second clip of footage used in the movie, Brian’s Song). Sayers and Piccolo became the first interracial roommates in the National Football League. The two men also became good friends, and Piccolo performed brilliantly when he filled in for Sayers after Sayers received a devastating knee injury. Sayers made a comeback, and, though the knee was never the same, he remained on the team through the 1971 season. Brian Piccolo died of embryonal cell carcinoma in June, 1970. In June, 1986, I was diagnosed with it. Thanks to the efforts of Joy Piccolo O’Connell, Piccolo’s widow, and the support of many Piccolo friends and supporters, the Brian Piccolo Cancer Research Fund has raised many millions of dollars over the years, and men like me are alive today due to the concentrated efforts stemming from the focus on curing this particular form of cancer. I have been in remission for 31 years and I can still smell the Jordan Ward, an inpatient chemotherapy nursing unit “back in the day” at what was then Duke University Medical Center. I've also been blessed with a relatively long life, as well as many opportunities to follow in order to learn the basics of how to lead. If cancer and its treatment is anything, it is humbling, and it prepared me to follow a different path. Sometimes, we’re called to follow in the footsteps of giants. America places much emphasis on producing great leaders, when perhaps what we need first is people who know how to follow. As a Christian clergyman and a Cherokee descendant, I try to follow Jesus and my own interpretation of the Great Spirit. I am, however, proud to also follow in Piccolo’s footsteps, in the shadow of a young man whose legacy has helped countless individuals. Following in this manner is truly a calling in and of itself. Who are you following, and why? How do we sacrifice for one another? The hope is that when we surrender on behalf of others, we do so from the goodness of our heart while adhering to our guiding principles. This type of sacrifice enables us to continue loving the other without becoming bitter. We are not called to sacrifice boundaries.
Some years ago, I found myself supported by Chris, a wonderful pastor who had my best interests at heart. He was called, I think, to sacrifice on my behalf, as he made it part of his mission to ensure that I did not encounter the abuse I endured in a previous ordination process. Chris ceded his time and emotional energy on my behalf, representing the truly beautiful side of the ordained ministry. Thanks to Chris and two wonderful groups of people who comprised my licensing committee and later ordination council, I was restored. Could you be called to sacrifice some time and energy to the service of another? If you are a parent, you are constantly sacrificing your time and energy for the necessary purpose of raising your children. Are you possibly being called to sacrifice temporarily for someone other than them, perhaps to give you a much-needed respite from your regular duties? Sometimes, our loved ones desire to communicate thier affection and their confidence in us. Should you elect to answer another call to sacrifice, remember that you are loved and respected, particularly by the persons who cannot seem to find the gumption to tell you so. It is, after all, a sacrifice. "Dogs Playing Poker," by C.M. Coolidge
Well, here we are, in 2018. How will we live it? Can we live our lives in the moment? In 23 BC, Horace suggested that we “seize the day” (carpe diem). His reflection was about enjoying the present. During my 20’s, dogs changed my life. There wasn’t one dog in particular. A succession of them gave me back my soul. It was springtime in 1991 and the freight train of life had run me over the previous year. My day-to-day functioning had been at a record low. I had even been homeless for a brief time. A loving hobby, however, magically became a profession and my four-legged friends repaired some serious wounds and suddenly I had advocates everywhere. I was learning the ropes of private, in-home instruction of both owner and dog. I made mistakes, of course, but the dogs centered me. A canine lives in the moment. If you don’t believe me, check out these guys in the painting by C.M. Coolidge. They have mastered the art of the cool breeze. I learned to savor the moment when the dogs began sharing sacred space with me. In truth, I had learned this art at twenty-three as a young, scared cancer patient. This was during the mid-1980s; America was in no state of declared war, and most of us were enjoying prosperity and none of my friends could relate to my life-and-death struggle. I wasn’t really given space to practice the art of seizing the day. It was the dogs that truly gave me that opportunity. This led me to recognize subsequent callings and to embrace them for the gifts they were. I could not have done this without learning the art of just hanging out and being. When I first moved to the Seattle area, I was in an otherwise respected chaplaincy position at an acclaimed research facility and was excited about the possibilities, having come 2700 miles from a previous chaplain position where I had enjoyed success. I soon learned, however, that I had been misled and was trapped (until I paused, “kicked some grass over that stuff,” and walked away) with three condescending, disdainful characters who saw it as their avocation to patronize and find fault with the new people. Not only could they not savor the moment, they worked hard at preventing others from doing the same. A colleague, who entered the department the same week I did, reported the same experience and, I’m happy to say, is doing well elsewhere. His own ability to live in the moment has flourished. Please, for God’s sake, be like the dogs, and learn to savor the moment. Trust also that you are being called to permit others to do the same because, frankly, we owe it to them. How will you savor the moment in the New Year? With The Rev. Dr. Ken Meeks, Jr., Ministry Mentor
I have been fortunate enough to have been on the receiving end of a few good mentoring relationships over the years. Each one, fortunately, has taken me to a new level. The best ones do two things: 1) Celebrate who you are without a concern for core character change; 2) Keep you moving toward your goal. One wonderful mentor was Dr. Kenyon Meeks. Ken was my ministry mentor during seminary, and he had his hands full. I had been severely hurt in one denomination and transitioned to another during our time together. During my second year in seminary, my mother died. She and I were very close, and Ken was there for me. I had become an emotional minefield, and Ken negotiated it with great precision. He was a calm, thoughtful presence as I struggled to deal with the mind-screws that sadly pervade the sometimes sadistic world of professional ministry. The ordained ministry reflects the society it attempts to serve. Like most professions, there are good eggs and bad eggs, and some truly rotten ones. I have personal and professional experience with all three. I will always be grateful for my time with Ken. If you possess the annoying tendency to tilt toward windmills the way I do, by all means do so in style, with someone like Ken watching your back. When we mentor another person, we assume a moral responsibility. When Hippocrates said, “Do no harm,” I think he had a lot more in mind than the dispensing of medicine. We are human and we will harm others; we can’t seem to help it. Mentoring others gives us an opportunity to not only assess the mentee but to assess ourselves as well. No real guidance of the other takes place without that self-assessment. Are you being called to mentor or help guide someone to a new level of being? How do you know if it’s a good fit? You answer the call. If that person remains on the line, stay connected. If the connection isn’t lost over time, it’s probably a good fit. I hope 2018 brings you into a positive mentoring relationship in one fashion or another. Perhaps you are due for the goodwill and skill that only a certain person can offer you; and maybe, just maybe, someone deserves your expertise and kindness. Happy New Year! I was expected to go nowhere. They said I was lazy, unmotivated. When it came to math, teacher remarks went something like this: “Bryan just won’t apply himself. He won’t sit still, and he disrupts my class with his showing off and silliness.” They seemed convinced that I was out to get them.
Such comments usually came from uninformed teachers who couldn’t comprehend how I, at age 12 for example, could converse about Watergate or memorize the pages from Peter Benchley’s Jaws or Irwin Shaw’s Rich Man, Poor Man, but was locked in a perpetual struggle with fractions and sleepy from the same old stale colonial American “history.” The truth is, I was confoundedly bored, but legitimately challenged, and I didn’t fare well with the then-pathetic North Carolina school curriculum, which consistently ranked low at the national level. By age 14, I was shut down, and stayed that way until I dropped out of high school. One high school “guidance counselor” asked me about my future plans. I told him what I wanted to do. He stared at me from behind his Mr. Peabody glasses and said, “Well, those guys are smart.” I became convinced, though, that the many teachers and so-called guidance counselors were wrong about me, and returned for my GED. The rest, as they say, is history; my history. Regarding the math, I had what is now known as “dyscalculia,” a genuine disability with respect to mathematics. My father, God rest his soul, could not or would not wrap his mind around the idea that his only son was a failure at math. My mother wasn’t any good at it, either, so she would ask Dad to “help” me. I struggled to comprehend, and he would sigh. Then he would yell. Then he would scream. Not a pleasant time in my life. This was a man with a recorded IQ of 180 and had received an appointment to the United States Military Academy at West Point. He turned that down after being promised that he would enter flight school for the U.S. Navy after just two years of college, and he was never the same after that broken promise, having lost two rare opportunities. He had difficulty, I think, embracing much of his own personal history, a family history that included forced Indian removal and further shattered U.S. government promises having to do with roads never built and monies never delivered, and a chaotic childhood where he was passed around from person to person. So that’s life in the trenches, I suppose. For the rest of my life I struggled with the numbers, but as a canine behaviorist I could do things with a German Shepherd puppy that awed my clients. This was probably because the dogs spoke to me in ways that the naysayers and the math formulas could not. The years past and Dad mellowed a bit, and I recall his pride when I graduated college and later, seminary. The figurine in the photograph of the old man and the butterfly was a present from my father later in life. He said it reminded him of my gift with the dogs. During those later years, Dad and I became friends, and it was then that it became possible to embrace my past. The figurine reminds me regularly of a man who loved me as best he could considering the circumstances he was dealt. How about you? Is it possible that you’re being called to embrace something from your past? If so, drop me a line. I would love to hear about it. With PGA professional and human being extraordinaire, James Black, in my hometown of Charlotte, N.C., 2017.
When I was a teen, my golf coach, James Black, used to say, “Muscle memory, young man, muscle memory,” as he stood in front of me and held my head still while I learned the art of the swing. He was and is a kind soul. I had a nice swing, but he knew that I didn’t have the tools to be a great golfer. He was more interested in my spirit. Like me, Mr. Black, as I still like to call him, is a Charlotte, N.C. native. These days, instead of encouraging me in my golf swing, he tells me that I’m “precious.” As one of the first African-American golfers to earn a Professional Golf Association (PGA) tour card, he has much to be bitter about because black golfers in those days endured unspeakable discrimination and abuse from white golfers who had half the talent of golfers like James. Yet, Mr. Black isn’t bitter. He tells me, “I love you and there ain’t a thing you can do about it.” Mr. Black is called to encourage, and he still emboldens me some 39 years later. Sometimes, encouragement is a matter of just a few words … or none at all. Perhaps someone recently gave you a “thumbs up,” either in person or on social media. My Little League coach, Mr. Woodard, used to yell, “Chunk that rock!” as I stood on the pitcher’s mound and ripped them past the batters, one by one. So many persons have made a difference for me at key points in my life. My middle school English teacher, Miss Stenhouse, thought I was a good writer. She had the thick, voluptuous lips that women would kill for, chestnut hair that danced on her delicate shoulders, and awesome brown eyes. She was 21, and I was 14. I was already spellbound, but when she gave me an “A” on my writing essay and complimented me, I was done for. My heart still skips a beat when I remember. Who needs your encouragement? Keep in mind the difference between advice and encouragement. One imparts specific information, solicited or unsolicited. The other is a warm summer breeze that blows across your bow as you attempt forward movement. It is superior to advice in so many ways, not the least of which is spiritual. When we encourage, we begin the wonderful process of positive endorphin release in the other person’s brain, something that can trigger new beginnings. Don’t be shy. Your encouragement may very well carry someone a long, long way. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! The Rev. Joseph A. Wiggins, Methodist minister and cavalry chaplain
This particular post is specific to those called to the ordained ministry and those who love them. This is a calling that has come to the young, to the old, and those in between. Attempting to describe it seems pointless since, after almost 25 years, my words cannot do it justice. Depending on one’s denomination within the Christian tradition (as that is the tradition to which I can speak), it can involve many things: preaching, pastoral care, administering of sacraments or ordinances, teaching, counseling (something many clergy need to steer clear of, for everyone’s sake), management of budgets, and more. If you are called to the ordained ministry, I want to encourage you. I encourage you because the party line by higher-ups is often that of discouragement. If God is in fact the One Who called you, then God likely knows what God is doing and the Spirit’s opinion trumps those of your detractors. What’s that you say? You don’t think you have any detractors? Trust me, you will. See, one of the many mysteries of this subsection of the greater world is that the emotional, psychological, spiritual, and sometimes physical toll is and always has been high for those ordained to the ministry. If you don’t tick someone off from time to time during the course of your ministry, you are doing something wrong. The stress can be tremendous. Despite this, I cannot think of anything more important than sharing the sacred space of God's love with others. My 2nd great-grandfather, Rev. Joseph A. Wiggins, was a circuit-riding Methodist minister and cavalry chaplain. According to his obituary (seriously!), he annoyed a great many in his efforts to promulgate the Gospel. Now, I’m sure Grandpa Joe and I are (I have a perpetual relationship with my ancestors, so I use the present tense to mark our relationship) at odds in our respective theologies, but regardless of where one rests on the theological spectrum, giving so much of self for others can be brutal work. Yet, most who have been in it for any length of time would tell you it has been worth it. The call to be “Separate Yet Equal” is sometimes described as being “set apart for the specific work of the ministry.” The comprehension of it by the clergyperson’s constituency varies. In some denominational life and thought, holy orders can represent a very separate and, unfortunately, unequal existence for the ordained. This is usually marked by an ordination service where a bishop, representing a direct line of bishops going back to Jesus Christ, lays hands on the candidate. In others, the service is considered a special service, yes, but no special authority (such as intercessor between God and the people) is conveyed upon the candidate for his or her role except that of preacher, caregiver, and one who administers the ordinances or sacraments. Of course, in most Protestant denominations, expectations of what the ordained ministry is varies from congregant to congregant, and therein lies much of the conflict that takes place in the ministry. If you are called in this sense, I won’t try to talk you out of it, simply because it is not my place (nor anyone else’s) to do so. I will suggest, however, that you keep your eyes open, for as Sheriff Andy said to his son, Opie, “Then if ya have any trouble closing them, why, your opponent will close ‘em for ya.” Do people really want to be helped? I have wrestled with that question for many years. Do people wish to be helped as a whole, I still don’t know. You will encounter the occasional individual, though, that does want help, and it is for him or her that you will be ordained, and it will have been worth every hoop you will invariably have to jump through. God bless you. Restoration and service go hand-in-hand, in that the best service is restorative. Former Cherokee Nation Principal Chief Wilma Mankiller (1945-2010), a recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom, led a life of restorative service. She even once said, “I want to be remembered as the person who helped us restore faith in ourselves.” During her different phases in Cherokee Nation government—including her tenure as Principal Chief—she implemented restorative benefits. She helped improve infrastructure by providing the Bell, Oklahoma community with running water; reformed and boosted tribal negotiations, and created the Cherokee Nation Community Development Center. Mankiller achieved these things and much more, all while battling sexism, racism, and serious health challenges.
At least a flicker of renewal resides in all of us. Certainly, with most of us, the willingness to employ it rises from the ashes of the many deaths we die as we make our way through adulthood. Our ability to renew and restore is an outgrowth of our intent to do so. If our hearts are not in the right place, no amount of talent will produce the kind of healing that makes us better people. We are, as were our ancestors, called to restore. If we (and they) were not, I would not be writing this, and you would not be here to read it. Restoration may not be a primary calling for you, but it could very well be an auxiliary one. What will you help restore in 2018? Let the world be part of your renewal. Someone, I promise, will benefit. Wah-doh (thank you) for your service. |
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