Seeing Invisible Political Options

[These reflections are drawn from Kings and Presidents: Politics and the Kingdom of God. Sermon outlines and small group discussion guides over the content of that book are available here.]

One of my favorite themes in the book of 2 Kings has to do with sight. Woven into its intriguing narratives about kings and political intrigue is a subtle question: Who really has the ability to see what’s going on in the world? Often, the politically powerful kings are the ones who position themselves on vantage points to be able to see what’s going on, whether that has to do with the enemy outside the city walls or the subjects living within. The redemptively subversive message of 2 Kings shows up over and over again, however, when people who we wouldn’t expect to have much of a vision can see things the kings can’t. Diseased outcasts have a better view than the king walking atop the walls. Politically powerless slave girls see what powerful warriors can’t. Vulnerable women precariously positioned on the brink of destitution can see options others overlook.

In 2 Kings 4, we meet a woman from Shunem whose husband is about to die. Because she has no sons and the one who has provided for her needs is about to die, this woman is in a dire situation. In the ancient world, women like her were dependent upon the provision of a husband or son, and without either, her future is bleak. Utter poverty is the immediate option looming before her. Elisha offers her another pathway: “Can we speak on your behalf to the king or the commander of the army?” (2 Kings 4:13). Perhaps one of them would take her in as a wife. Perhaps they will use their political power to provide for her. Given the options in front of her, perhaps this is the lesser of two evils.

Her remarkable response resists the given options and charts out what others could not see. “I have a home among my own people.” We shouldn’t miss the subtext: She isn’t going to sell out to align with the powerful, even when her future is uncertain. Aligning with the king would displace her from the people whose identity and life have been rooted in God’s faithfulness. In other words, she could see the way the world really worked. She saw what the king couldn’t: God’s own faithfulness in strange and subtle ways would be her hope and future.

Her vision has me thinking a lot about my place among God’s people, who are currently being offered political options: this or that? I want to be able to see the invisible political option. Since most Americans will read this through a two-party lens, you may be asking, “You mean a third-party candidate?” And to answer that question, that’s not really what I mean. Rather, I mean maintaining a vision of God’s faithfulness in the subtle and strange ways, so that when I’m given options that would beckon me away from the subtlety of God’s future, I can say, “I actually want to find my home among my own people.”

Pastorally, I do have a concern that the given political options on offer (and I don’t just mean the candidates or parties) blind us to the subtle faithfulness of God that is sustaining and redeeming the world. Theologically, I hope that we can develop a vision to see the way God sustains and redeems so that God’s people will have the capacity to say, “We’re going to make our home there.”

The strangest way God seems to see fit to redeem the world is, of course, in the way of Jesus Christ. His life, death, and resurrection have opened a reality where Christians are called to find a home. His way isn’t going to fit other patterns, but I’m not making a call here for some generic ‘middle way’ in pointing to Jesus between two given options. Rather, I’m hoping to develop the vision of a woman who could see a completely different way forward that would cause her to entrust herself entirely to God’s pattern of redemptive life. And then I hope that such a vision would guide me to pass on offers to make my home by aligning with given options. I’d rather have the theological vision and courage to join her response: “I have a home among my people.” Those people are the ones who are living in real ways the dynamics of resurrection, entrusting themselves to the new creation breaking in at every turn. It’s not usually in the headlines, but it is anywhere the Spirit is making things new through Jesus. It is a vision that I hope will lead me to align with the politics of new creation.

A vision of new creation politics may not come with a clear-cut voter guide, but it does call for us to live life in ways that allow the dynamics of resurrection to move us, arranging us into new creation relationships and realities. Those realities probably won’t come back in poll results on election night, whatever the result. But my hope today is that a woman who could really see might lend her vision to us today, and that rather than aligning with given political options, we can see an option that is often overlooked and say with her, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not going to go with you. I’ve got a home with my people.”

Communicating for Transformation

What was the most formative teacher or educational experience you had? If you think back, what made that event or that person effective in forming the person you’ve become today? Or, to put it another way, what makes education effective in a formational sense?

I’ve just finished reading Charles Duhigg’s latest book, Supercommunicators: How to Unlock the Secret Language of Communication. The subtitle is clearly crafted to sell copies of the book, but the content on communication is fascinating to me, largely because I love to be able to communicate well with others. Duhigg’s book is filled with social scientific research, psychology, and communication studies, presented in a highly readable, journalistic style. His knack for writing comes across in how he’s able to quickly and clearly offer categories for complex concepts.

The implications for anyone involved in working with other people or organizational leadership are everywhere. It’s the kind of book that would help pastors, church leaders, managers, and the like. The educational benefits, however, struck me about halfway through the book. It was there that opens a conversation about approaching conversations while giving attention to feelings. Humans, he reminds us, are wired for connections, and our emotions often drive connection. And so, if you want to make stronger connections with others, don’t ignore the emotional component of communication.

One good way to do this is to transform shallow questions into deep ones. Rather than asking where someone lives, for example, ask them what they most like about their neighborhood. Surface-level questions about what someone does for a living can be deepened by an adjustment: “What was your favorite job?” These are the kinds of questions that go deeper, giving someone the ability to quickly reveal more about their feelings and commitments. Now we’re talking. These are the kinds of conversations that can become transformative.

The work of the church and the work of educational communities are both meant to be transformational. It’s probably why I love working in those spaces so much. At their heart, the academy and the church are invested in transformation of people and communities. I wonder if these kinds of questions might help us in that work.

In the western culture, both belief and knowledge tend to be understood in non-emotional terms. At church, we might ask about what we believe, and that often means an idea that we are committed to uphold. Knowledge – the kind we pick up through education – is often understood similarly: “Just give me the information I need,” we might think during a class we are taking. I tend to see this show up when students arrive at a university after having been formed by PowerPoint decks of content or ‘study guides’ that are essentially lists of answers to the exam that will measure whether they memorized those facts. But how can any of that be transformational?

As I consider which educational experiences and educators that have been most transformational in my life, they are the ones that haven’t shied away from the emotion. Maybe the same is true for you, too. Educators who aided in transformation were the ones who asked questions about me, and who were a bit vulnerable with those entrusted to their care. They were the people I connected with and trusted.

Several years ago, it became clear that the graduate programs in theology we offered at the university where I serve were in need of revisioning. The program had been built on the model of adult education that said that shorter courses kept students more engaged. They were, according to the prevailing wisdom, more likely to complete courses if they were shorter, leaving less room for life circumstances to rise up and present insurmountable challenges. The trouble was that faculty had grown weary of teaching and students in the program seemed to be less engaged. We started to dream about programs that would be life-giving for students and faculty alike. We asked a lot of questions and dug into a lot of research. One of the primary things we found is that if we wanted to offer transformational education, we were going to need to connect with students better. We were going to need to foster deeper relationships, and that meant we were going to have to question one of the pillars of adult education: shorter courses are better.

We designed new programs that engage theology, biblical studies, church, and community that emphasize connection. While they are still online, we now include weekly video conference sessions where we can see one another’s faces and hear one another’s voices. It’s more time-consuming for faculty and students alike, but it’s also far more transformational, because it allows us to convey emotion, embracing how humans are actually formed and transformed. These sessions are also what the students say they appreciate the most about the program.

In theological education, the importance of this cannot be overstated. Theological education is far more than offering interesting historical facts or offering hermeneutical strategies (though this is part of it!). Theological formation deals with matters closest to the core of the human heart. It touches on the most deeply-held convictions a person has, convictions that make sense out of their lives and motivate their actions. If we are going to have any hope of transformation, that is going to take trust, commitment, connection, and time. That simply couldn’t be done in intentionally short courses where the students watched lectures, but had no facetime with the professor. We’ve rewired for connection and it’s made a lot of difference.

It’s also allowed us to talk in more depth about difficult and complex issues, and to ask how the gospel is working in the middle of some of our world’s most pressing concerns. These are uncomfortable topics that generate hard conversations, but we cannot shy away from them. We need to, rather, learn how to have these conversations in better, grace-filled ways. Not everyone agrees on the issues or even how the gospel is working in the middle of them, of course, but we do have an opportunity to hear from one another, and to be transformed by those connections.

This is nothing new to Wesleyans, of course. Part of what John Wesley saw when he began his work in England was that transformation is going to call for putting people together, giving them questions to foster a connection, and to dig deep together. In theological terminology, this is a means of grace, the grace that leads to transformation.

Similar dynamics are at work in the church, too. In many congregations, we’ve adopted models of formation that we’ve picked up at school. We teach content, we offer lessons – largely presented much like the content we’d pick up in a class at a school or university. When I sit in on various classes in my congregation, though, I see something else happening. It usually comes before the lesson: a time of sharing concerns with one another. We voice them as requests for prayer, which is good, but consider the vulnerability that comes with voicing the things we long for most. I think this is more than an opportunity to gossip wrapped in a veneer of piety. It’s making deep emotional connection with those in the class, which is how human beings tend to experience transformation.

Whether your work is primarily in the church or an educational institution, or both, how might we be sure that emotion becomes a friend to us in the journey of transformation? For me, I know I will start paying more careful attention to the kinds of questions I ask students, and create more time for us to connect around their answers. I’ll be considering how to move away from surface questions replace them with deepening inquiries. I’ll risk being a bit more vulnerable. And maybe, somewhere down the line, those adjustments may help someone have a transformational educational experience.

Ministry Leadership Requires a Love of Learning: How Institutions of Learning Can Help

A couple of weeks ago, we had the joy of welcoming Tod Bolsinger to Trevecca for a time of exploring adaptive leadership. His content was thought-provoking as always, and it was particularly fun to listen to him condense most of Canoeing the Mountains into a single verbal presentation. The piece of his presentation that I simply can’t shake, though, is this quotation from Eric Hoffer: “In times of change, learners inherit the earth, while the learned find themselves beautifully equipped to deal with a world that no longer exists.” It landed in the context of a story Tod told about helping an educational institution adapt to a dynamic future, which, of course, got my attention.

The institutions Bolsinger and I serve are preparing people to serve churches that are finding a way in a dynamic, rapidly changing environment. At the same time, those own institutions are also finding a way forward in a context of rapid change. The question, then, is what allows people and institutions to navigate that change well? What allows us to step into a dynamic future while still being faithful to our mission? I think Hoffer has it right: learning.

I’ll put it this way: the love of learning is a virtue that must be formed at educational institutions that want to help their students lead well in a dynamic future. The problem is that many of the students who come to do so with the expectation that learning is about equipping them with static skills that allow them to get a job. There isn’t necessarily anything wrong with skills training, of course. The problem arises when a love for learning isn’t fostered alongside the acquisition of skills. In other words, if learning is only about acquiring skills, we may be equipping students for a reality that won’t exist twenty years from now. If we can develop a love of learning, though, we are giving students a capacity for growth over a lifetime, especially as they attempt to guide organizations into uncharted cultural waters.

In the work I’m doing in established educational institutions to offer undergraduate and graduate-level theological education, as well as through a large denominational project that’s developing ordination education, I’ve got this question on my shoulder, and I don’t want it to leave. I don’t want clergy education to be only about acquiring skills while not giving attention to fostering a love of learning. Quite simply, ministerial education has also got to foster a love for learning that will allow students to adapt, and lead adaptively, for years to come.

The fact of the matter is that while many of the ministry skills I picked up in my college training, about half were connected to the particularity of a cultural moment that has since passed. I do remember a youth ministry professor saying several times, “The container may change, but the content should remain,” so there was attention being given to adaptive leadership, even in courses where I was being trained to run youth ministry in a model that has largely faded away. I’m also grateful for the skills I picked up in exegesis, homiletics, pastoral care, administration, and so on. They continue to serve me well, and I’m quite grateful for them.

What I treasure, however, is that alongside those skills, I also developed a love of learning that allowed me to adapt to different kinds of ministry challenges, from the need to relate to a changing neighborhood to starting a small business when life called for a creative income stream. I’m grateful that when I bumped into a challenge, I wasn’t as prone to say, “Well, they didn’t teach me how to do this in seminary,” as much I leaned into a curiosity that was developed in me during seminary, saying instead, “I may not know how to do that now, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

The hope, too, is that the institutions served by people who love to learn will take on a similar flavor. They can learn, grow, adapt, and thrive. How might these virtues be developed? How might institutions be able to adapt in a rapidly changing culture? How will they help new ministries come to be? How will clergy help existing congregations and institutions face a new future?

To get at these questions, I offer these bits of reflection, both to educators and students. First, to students:

1)    Consider your questions – What kind of questions are you asking in your educational journey? If you are primarily asking How? questions, consider asking a few others, like Why? How questions are good for acquiring skills, like, “How do I put together a worship service?” Why questions tap into a love of learning. For example, you might ask, “Why has the church structured its worship like this over time?” Also, “What if…” questions can help open an imaginative space for your skills to work in new ways. “What if my church were to do this thing?” might be the kind of question that sparks a bit of imaginative learning.

2)    Take advantage of learning in different fields – When I was an undergraduate, I surprised myself in a biology course. While that course wasn’t in my major, I ended up being fascinated with the content and it stretched me to learn in new ways. These days, I relish the opportunity to learn from experts in other fields. If you’ve got that opportunity, challenge yourself to take advantage.

3)    Consider learning as a spiritual growth discipline – What might happen if learning itself became a way of loving God? Jesus did talk to his followers about loving God with heart, mind, soul, and strength. How might engaging the mind be a way of loving God?

For educators and educational institutions:

1)    Help students celebrate learning – One of my favorite philosophers, Albert Borgmann, argued that things can be celebrated only if they make a claim on us. I think the gospel and learning are two excellent examples of that. How might we help our students celebrate the learning they’ve done in big and small ways? I encourage students to truly and deeply celebrate their college graduations, not just because they finished, but because they allowed learning to make a claim on them and shape them. But smaller claims can also be celebrated. I wonder what it would look like for professors to take time in class settings to celebrate what’s been learned and to make learning more of a celebration.

2)    Gamification – A newer field of exploration has emerged around the gamification of learning, largely around applying game theory and game design to learning. Think about a board game you might play as a team, and then consider how those team dynamics might enliven learning, and how it might evoke a love for learning. I’ll leave the analysis of gamification’s merits to those who are specialists in that field, but I’ll simply suggest here that gamification might be able to inspire a love of learning, especially when it demonstrates how learning can be used to adaptively apply what has been learned to dynamic situations and challenges.

3)    Consider learning as a spiritual growth discipline – Yes, I said the same thing to students above, but for educators, there’s a twist. Most years, I offer a short workshop for new Trevecca faculty that highlights what it means for my university to be a Wesleyan university. Yes, we are a Christian university, but our Wesleyan roots also give us some pretty wonderful resources when it comes to education. Namely, Wesleyans tend to prefer talking about human beings as being created in the image of God. We aren’t alone in that, but it’s our default mode for theological anthropology, or the study of what makes us human. I make the claim in that presentation that Wesleyans should excel at education because we understand education and learning as a means of grace that allow humans to more fully reflect the divine image. That doesn’t mean that folks without degrees are less human, but that we view learning as charged with graced possibility. For Wesleyans, learning isn’t just about filling fallen minds with facts and skills; it’s work we do as part of human beings being redeemed from the disease of disordered desire and sin. We don’t educate students to manage lives that are continually lived under the tyranny of sin; for Wesleyans, education is offered in the enduring hope that these students are becoming more free to be fully alive as humans, all by divine grace. How could we not love to learn with that as a possibility?

Though these only scratch the surface of the possibilities, the overall hope is that developing a love for learning will always be part of education, especially for those who are preparing to offer leadership to churches and organizations in an increasingly complex world. Skills are helpful and not to be overlooked, but they’ll also need to be coupled with a character-forming approach that models committed curiosity as a virtue, because I think Hoffer is on to something: the learners are going to be the ones who lead with a capacity to adapt.