Unequal Relationships

“Your relationship with another person is not the same relationship he or she has with you.”  I heard Andy Stanley say this in his recent message series, “The Weight of Your Words.”  I wish had heard it decades earlier.  It explains so much of my life, my frustrations in friendships, and my frustrations as a leader.

The truth of Andy’s statement is obvious when we think about our relationships with our parents and with our children.  These are not relationships of equals.  Most of us start our marriages by believing we can be equal partners.  The truth is I don’t want my wife to be my husband and she certainly doesn’t want me to be her wife.  We try to keep power dynamics out of our marriage, but we have a different relationship to each other.

I have been in several relationship triads.  Three of us were close friends, but there are times when I felt like the third wheel. Our relationships were not the same.  The other two in the triad had been friends longer and had more shared experiences; I was the newcomer they let in, but was always having to hear about experiences they had before I knew them.

In the first church I served that had staff, I thought we were a team and I would be first among equals.  It took me about fifteen years to learn that would never be the case.  As the pastor, I was the leader.  I often felt left out of the social moments on staff retreats.  I would walk into a room for a meeting and the laughter would stop.  I was not one of the guys.

I made the dynamic worse by trying to be “one of the guys.”  I would cut up and joke, and then get mad when everyone wanted to keep joking around and I was ready to be serious.  That was my fault. I didn’t help matters by getting mad when the staff didn’t respond to my agenda swings.

Our executive pastor reminds me my words weigh more than anyone else’s on the team.  I might make a sarcastic comment in some attempt to be funny, not realizing I just wounded someone.  A flippant idea might be taken seriously when I meant for people to simply think about this as a possibility and report back if it feasible. 

I often see this with Student Pastors.  They want to be “Buddies” with the kids they lead.  If a person takes this approach, they will fail.  Students need leadership.  Yes, you have relate to the kids, but kids can sniff out a phony faster than a pig can find a strawberry.  A student pastor’s relationship with his or her students is not the same as their relationship with him.

Edwin Friedman reminds leaders they are different than the people they lead.  He calls this “the self-differentiated leader.”  You do not depend on others for your sense of self.  You cannot expect others to understand what it is truly like to sit in your chair.

Jesus understood this.  When James and John asked to sit at his right and his left when he came into his Kingdom, Jesus responded, “You do not know what you are asking.  Can you drink from the cup I am about to drink from.”  They responded, “We can.”  Jesus, maybe with a smile on his face, said, “You will, but to be seated at my right and my left is for my Father to decide.”  I think that was Jesus’ way of saying, “ You will experience the thrill and pain of leadership, and it won’t be like you think.”

If you are a leader, own it.  Your relationship with the people you lead is not the relationship they have with you.

Fathers of the Bible…

Adam was the first father.  He had one son kill another.  Talk about a family feud.  I wonder what he said to Cain when he left home to get away from his reputation? 

Noah had three sons.  They apparently helped with the hundred-year ark building program and stuck by the old man during the year on the ark (the other choice involved a lot of treading water).  But after the flood was over, Noah got drunk one day and made a fool of himself.  One of his sons saw him naked, so Noah cursed his son by cursing his grandson.  Grandson: “Why doesn’t Grandpa like me?” Dad: “Well, he was passed out from drinking too much, naked as the day he was born…”   

Abraham sent his first born (Ishmael) away, because his first wife made him.  It was easier to make the boy and his mother pay the price of his poor judgment than fight with Sarah, his first wife.  Abraham was ready to offer his second born, Isaac, as an offering to God until God stopped him.  That made for awkward family memories: “Remember the time Dad almost killed you as a sacrifice?” 

Isaac had two boys as well, twins.  He learned nothing from the mistakes of his father.  He too favored one child over another.  When he mixed up the blessing meant for the first-born, Esau, giving it to Jacob, the younger, he made no attempt to reverse it.  He figured he would just let them fight it out, which they did.  For decades. 

Jacob had twelve boys from two wives and two concubines.  You thought your blended family was tough.  He favored one of the boys, Joseph, over the others.  His brothers had enough of it and sold their brother into slavery.  Sure, it turned out God was working the whole time to save Jacob and his family, but still, the relationships were strained.  After their father died, the brothers went to Joseph, who was a pretty high-up politician in Egypt, and said, “Dad said not to kill us.” That’s a pretty low bar for family ties.  If someone had ever asked Jacob how to have a close-knit family, I think he would have said, “Danged if I know how.”  

Manoah waited a long time to be a father.  When an angel told him he would be a dad, he asked for advice about how to raise the boy.  He wound up making sure Samson never cut his hair, but he gave in to every demand his son made.  He was a classic enabler.   Maybe he should have asked for a spine instead of wisdom.   

Samuel put his sons into the family business of leading God’s people.  They absorbed none of their Dad’s preaching.  They were supposed to be assistant judges but turned out to judges for sale, ready to sell a decision to the highest bidder.  It must of broke their Dad’s heart, what with him being a preacher and all.   

Saul hated his son’s best friend, David.  The boy drove him crazy – literally.  

David had a son rape his daughter; then another son killed the rapist son, and then the killer son rebelled against his dad. The whole thing turned into a war.  When his son is killed, David weeps, maybe because he realized he’d been such a lousy dad.  For a man after God’s own heart, his heart had to hurt because of the way his kids turned out. 

Solomon had so many wives and concubines he could hardly remember their names.  Must of made for awkward family meals: “Now are you the son of wife number 178 or wife 231?”  If therapists had existed in those days, I can imagine one of his sons saying to his therapist: “My dad didn’t even know my name!” 

I don’t know about you, but compared to these guys, I’m looking pretty good as a Dad. 

Why so many stories about failed fathers in the Bible?  Because none of us can be the perfect Dad.  We can do the best we can, but at the end of the day, we aren’t perfect and we can’t control our children.  It turns out that everyone is responsible for their own choices, their own decisions. 

In the Bible there is one perfect Father.  So, on this Father’s Day, if you are a Dad, accept His grace and ask for His help.  Stop trying to be the perfect Dad.  Admit your mistakes.  Your kids aren’t dumb; they know sometimes you just mess up.   

And cut your Dad some grace as well.  He wasn’t perfect.  No matter how bad he wounded you, try to remember he is a flawed person.  If you need help giving that grace, there is a Heavenly Father who can help you.  He’s the only Dad who ever had a perfect Son.   Because of their perfect relationship, your relationships can be better.  They will show you the way. 

Tell Me About It

She switched to beer from whiskey to dull the pain of being alone in the bar another night.  Tom, the bartender was her friend, as long as she told him to pour another round.  She wasn’t sure how she had gotten in such a dark place. 

A cheerleader in high school, she was one of the popular girls.  One night in the backseat of the quarterback’s Camaro she gave up her virginity.  In return, she got a cold shoulder at school the next day.  She wept and wept in the girl’s bathroom, but then made up her mind she’d never let anyone know how much she hurt.

She slept with the quarterback’s best friend to pay him back.  She became the life of the party, everyone’s favorite girl for a good time.  College was living for the weekend.  When a friend told her she was drinking too much, she replied she could quit anytime she wanted to.  She wanted to, sometimes, but the alcohol had become her friend, her comfort.

Past college, she had a couple of long-term relationships, but every time she hinted about marriage, the guy withdrew.  In her bed, the tears sometime returned.  She wondered if the guys loved her or were just using her. 

She was fired from her last job for showing up late one too many mornings.  An expert excuse-maker, she’d begun to believe her own lies.  It was unfair, she told her family, but their sympathy was thin, worn out from being lied to one too many times.  She hated the job she had now; she took it only for the money.  It was getting harder and harder to keep her facade together.  Most mornings she was hungover; it took the first hour at work for the cobwebs to clear and for her to be coherent.  The blackouts scared her most.  Some mornings she woke up and couldn’t remember a thing from the day before.

While she was drowning her thoughts in her whiskey, a man sat down beside her.  She waited for the pick-up line before she stole a glance to see what response he would get.  He ordered a Perrier.  Tom, the bartender had to ask him to repeat it.  After he twisted off the top, she said, “That’s kind of strange drink to order in a bar.”

He chuckled and said, “I’m a little different.”  Then she stole a glance.  He was early thirties, beard, and looked like he had worked construction.  Something about him made her lean in and ask, “Different ‘good’ or different ‘bad?’”

“Just different,” he said.  “What about you?”

“Different bad, definitely,” she replied.

He paused and said, “That’s interesting.  Tell me about it.”

Before she knew it, she was telling him her whole sad story.  Maybe it was the whiskey, or his kind smile, or her own heart so full of pain, or the way he nodded, like he understood.  She told him about the one-night stands, the nightly doses of whiskey, the loneliness of her life, and the sinking feeling she had that this was to be her life, one night after another, starving for love and thirsty for the next drink.  She even told him about the abortion she’d had in college, that no one knew about, not even her family.  Part of her expected him to get up and walk away, but he stayed right there.  He was there, listening to her, to first person to really listen to her in years.

When she paused in her tale, he spoke up: “Life doesn’t have to be that way, you know.”  With acid in her voice, she said, “Yeah, it would be nice if I could start over.”

“Why don’t you?” he said.  “How would I do that?” was her skeptical reply.

There was kindness in his eyes when he said, “If you talk to God, he will give you a new start.  Call it a new birth.  But you have to be honest about your life.  Shouldn’t be too hard; you already know your life is a mess.  But in case you don’t know it, God loves you and he will give power to start a new life.  It’s called grace.”

“Are you one of those religious nuts?” she asked.  “Not really,” he replied.  “Just call me JC.  I’m not about religion.  I just like to find hurting people – people like you – and let them know they can tell me about whatever is on their hearts.  See, before we ever met, I knew you would need some hope, some love, and some grace.  I just wanted to share with you some good news – there is a God who loves you and who wants to give a new start.”

She was quiet for a while.  He didn’t say anything else.  Then, in a small voice, she said, “It sounds too good to be true.”  He said “A lot of people think that.  But you’ll never know if it is true or not unless …”

She interrupted him: “Unless I try it.”  He grinned and said, “Tell me about it.”