Author Archives: Aaron Perry

Jesus With The Pastor: What God Does With Our Dirt by Aaron Perry

When I was in seminary, I often traveled long distances by bus. Greyhound used to have a $59 ticket to anywhere in North America. The price fit my budget and the timing fit my personality. I didn’t mind a long bus ride when I had a handful of books and a day and a half to dig in. But I had to be very careful because sometimes people would get on the bus hoping to make a best friend before the next stop. Not me. I just wanted to read my books and enjoy some solitude. I discovered a trick to keep the seat next to me open. While bus-travel is best done lightly, one item I always brought with me: my pillow. Have you ever seen an old pillow outside its case? It can be a bit off-putting. Snuggling up to my uncased pillow often kept the seat next to me open. Why? Because nobody wants to sit next to a dirty pillow. We don’t like being next to dirt…at all!

Think for a moment about all the phrases that use the word “dirt” or an equivalent. Heard of a dirty movie? Given a dirty look? Did you used to have a potty mouth or been forced to do the dirty work? You might hope to become filthy rich, but you don’t want someone to dig up the dirt on you. Why? Because we hide our dirt; we clean up our minds and hearts and language. We not only put covers on some pillows to hide their dirt; we cover our souls. We worry that some parts of our past might never come clean.

Psychologist Alfred Adler said that dirt keeps people away from us. But “dirt” doesn’t just keep other people away; it seems to create a separation from God. Uncleanness was a way of describing people’s defilement before God, so the Old Testament has specific ways of helping people become ritually clean. Leviticus 12-15 describes ways of becoming clean because of impurity coming from blood, skin diseases, and other bodily fluids. Leviticus 16 describes the Day of Atonement—when uncleanness and rebellion is gathered together and cleansed. Both the Israelites and the Tabernacle (Tent of Meeting) are cleansed to be in God’s presence. This combination of uncleanness and sin comes through the prophet Isaiah, as well, who said that he was a man of unclean lips and came from a people of unclean lips (Isaiah 6:5).

Now, why this lengthy discussion about dirt? Because it gives us depth to understanding what Jesus does in John 13:1-17, the last supper. Back in John 1, John said that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us (1:14). The noun of this verb “to dwell” is the same word that the Septuagint (the Old Testament translated from Hebrew to Greek) uses for tent or Tabernacle (Tent of Meeting). Before the temple was built, the Tabernacle was the place where God would meet with his people. It was a portable location for the presence of God while the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness after leaving Egypt. In John 1:14, John is saying that the enfleshed Word is the Tabernacle, the presence of God. Of course, in John 2, Jesus says that his body is the temple that will be raised after three days. Now notice what is happening here: rather than the disciples getting cleansed to come into Jesus’ presence, the tabernacling presence/temple of God is washing the disciples. We are not cleansed before we come into the presence of God; God in Christ comes to cleanse us! How amazing, then, are the words of Jesus, “And you are clean” (v. 10)!

But this is a specific type of cleaning. Notice the posture Jesus takes: After supper, Jesus took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. The Greek word for “took off” can also be translated “laid aside” or “laid down”—exactly what Jesus said he will do with his life for the sheep (10:15). Further, wrapping a towel around his waist was taking the posture of a slave and washing feet was doing the work of a slave. Jesus maintains this posture into the next day because that’s when Jesus dies a slave’s death on the cross. In this death, God hands down the sentence for uncleanness, but also takes the sentence on himself. Or, as Isaiah says it, “By his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). Jesus dies a slave’s death and the result is that he cleanses us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9). Jesus lays aside his clothes to take up the towel to wash his disciples’ feet and he keeps the slave’s towel to lay aside his life to wash our whole persons.

The enemy may remind you of your dirt—the stuff you want to keep hidden. But we must pay close attention to the tabernacling presence of God, the Word made flesh, the one whose body is the temple. He has come not to remind us of our dirt, but to make us clean! And by virtue of his sacrificial death, Jesus says to us, “You are clean!”

What A Baby Uncovers: The Judgment Of Advent by Aaron Perry

“I’m pregnant!”

The announcement demands a response. At times the response is easy: There are hugs and cheers, whoops, whirls, and texts—the group kind. At times the response is complicated: There are glances and glares, winces, wails, and tears—not the good kind.

When a baby is a dream come true, the announcers set to painting a room, taking vitamins, writing letters, scheduling appointments, arranging photos, and purchasing a range of clothes…and bins—lots of bins—to house the clothes. The list feels endless. A baby is the natural tangible expression of marital love. Pregnancy is welcome news.

Tragically, a baby may be the opposite of a dream come true. For some, a baby may be a nightmare. Far from an expression of marital love, a baby may be evidence of secret infidelity, sexual abuse, rape, and impulsive action. Pregnancy may not feel like a delight, but a verdict.

Whether welcome or wished-it-wasn’t-so, a baby is revealing. The baby brings revealing light to the emotional strength, financial capacity, planning ability, and relational health of a life. A baby reveals the order (or chaos) of a house. A baby reveals a home’s priorities and values. Trying to welcome a baby into life and home without making adjustments is impossible. You can’t ignore the baby. There is new work, new responsibilities, and new demands.

While the Annunciation, Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that she will conceive a child by the Holy Spirit, reminds Christians that a baby is on his way, Advent provides a time of preparation for his arrival. No longer can important tasks be put off. He’s on his way. Like expectant parents, churches and church members focus on making announcements, building floats, practicing and performing dramas, purchasing and distributing gifts. But we ought not ignore everything that Jesus’ birth revealed. It was not taken as easy celebration but as serious news. His birth could not be treated neutrally. Just as a baby reveals the state of the home, so did Jesus’ birth reveal the state of his world.

Just as a baby reveals the home’s priorities, Jesus’ birth forces us to attend to our priorities. His birth exposes idolatry—the sin of placing anything before God. Do the priorities in our lives reflect God’s primacy in our love and devotion? Just as a baby must be loved in proper order, so must God order everything else in our lives.
Just as a baby cannot be ignored in its home, Jesus’ birth forces us to attend to the rhythm of our lives. His birth exposes our folly—the sin of crafting a life without God. Have we ignored God? How have we constructed lives without God?
Just as a baby brings new responsibilities and work, Jesus’ birth forces us to attend to our willingness to do the work given us by God. His birth exposes our penchant to sloth—the sin of refusing our God-given work. Are we giving our best to the work done by the will of God? Are we taking up our divinely ordered tasks?

Just as baby reveals my life’s priorities, constructions, and discipline, so does the birth of Jesus offer a judgment on my idolatry, folly, and sloth. Advent gives me time to prepare for that judgment.

Judgment on idolatry, folly, and sloth? No wonder people might not consider the birth of this baby Good News! But it actually is. If you have ever lived in a home, worked in an organization, invested in a community, or had a meaningful partnership that was marked with disorder, intentional ignorance, and laziness, then you know that judgment is, possibly, Good News. Proper judgment establishes order, wisdom, and meaningful work.

But the news of order, wisdom, and work is only good news if the one bringing judgment is of a certain character. The form taken in the manger reveals to us the heart of the judge. He would grow to be the one who would weep these prophetic words of warning, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you, desolate” (Matt. 23:37-38a). He weeps because Jesus’ words have a finality. His warnings have not been heeded and the ultimate symbol of his judgment will be the destruction of the temple as predicted in the very next chapter, Matthew 24.

But while the temple will be brought down, the personal houses of the disciples may still be guarded. “Keep watch!” “Stay awake!” or even “Wake up!” commands Jesus (Matt. 24:42). May your house be found in order! Advent is not simply an invitation to set our houses in order for his birth. Advent is an urgent opportunity to set our houses in order for Jesus’ return. By taking the opportunity to rightly order our lives, we may anticipate the glorious return of Jesus joyfully. His coming judgment will not be feared if we accept his present judgment against idolatry, folly, and sloth—even our own.

The liturgical calendar, in its wisdom, has given us Advent, complete with its call to prepare for judgment. Advent is like an alarm clock. The alarm clock’s obnoxious noise is not bad news! If properly set and attended, the alarm clock wakes us up to keep our lives well ordered, to keep us on time. The alarm clock is not bad news; it is the opportunity to prepare. Advent’s warning of judgment is not bad news; it is the opportunity to prepare for Christ’s return. Advent is an annual alarm clock, set to go off and remind us that a baby is coming and so we must be prepared. The baby will reveal the state of our house.

And if we prepare, then just as many heard the news of his birth as gospel, so will we anticipate his return with similar hope. Advent’s alarm clock is ringing. Are you awake? Are you alert?

Desire And Duty In Everyday Life: The Narrative Of Ethics by Aaron Perry

C.S. Lewis argued that before writing a story, two elements must be considered: desire and duty. The story begins with the Author’s desire. Something captures the author that he or she needs to get out. Before the writing process begins, however, the story should be considered for its value as well. So consider the would-be storywriter from two angles: the Author and the Person. The would-be writer as a Person must answer not only, “Do I want to write this?” but also, “Should the story be written?” The story can only emerge if the writer has a desire, and the story should only be written if it contributes to the benefit of humankind (duty). Both desire and duty are necessary for this free action to be rightfully taken.

Much popular ethical reflection still begins with desire: what does the “Author” of one’s own life want? However, the check or restriction on one’s desire is almost never the “Person’s” duty. Instead, desire is checked only by how one’s desire impacts the desires of another. The result is a spirit of permissiveness as long as one’s desires do not hinder another’s desires.

But duty still sneaks into the conversation. Think about how often you hear people say that they “owe it to themselves” or need to “be true to themselves” or “deserve to get my rights.” These phrases communicate something important about ethical deliberation. The individual cannot be swallowed up by the community entirely; however, without an objective reality (whether family, community, the Divine, a friend), duty crumples into a simple reaffirmation of subjective desire. Duty to oneself – “I owe it to myself” – is moral language repurposed to express individual desire. In effect, we become our own standards of right and wrong: your moral duty is to identify and fulfill your desire.

In postmodernity, a common move has been to find others with similar desires. Intentionally or not, one may then ground the pursuit of one’s own desire as duty to this community. In this way, desire is carefully hidden in the name of duty for one’s community. In case this feels abstract, consider how the mindset has impacted political communities. The postmodern political move has been to galvanize these communities linked by desire, using the underlying fear of tyranny from those who are “not like us” or whose desires are different. It’s not a phobia: human beings do master and control one another on big and small scales. The final result is communities of desire with self-justifying duty against other communities of desire with self-justifying duty. This complexity then requires a political solution who breaks in from beyond. Hail the political hero who is “not an insider,” who is “just like one of us.”

In contrast to this kind of politics, the Christian narrative teaches that there is no true outsider except for Jesus: the one whose life truly reveals ourselves and whose life truly reveals God; the one who so truly reveals because he is both God and human. In him, desire and duty are unified: his duty to the Father is his desire, and his desire to please the Father through the power of the Spirit drives his faithfulness to his duty.

Here the Christian community, especially in the local church, provides a correcting and prophetic word to other political allegiances. The unity of the church doesn’t come from shared desires with other members: the unity of the church is in its leader. There is membership not in what is owed to ourselves, but in what is owed to Christ because we are now in him. The local church provides an all too flesh-and-blood community that puts us in covenant relationship to other people in Christ not simply in the abstract, but concretely to the man or woman in the seat next to us at our small group or in worship. The politics of allegiance in the church is not simply of desire, but of duty to one another—the actual person—in Christ.

The Christian story, in the form of this community, does not merely affirm that Jesus is the Savior, but that through Christ we will be conformed to his image, too: our lives, from the inside out, will be remade, and any split between desire and duty perfectly healed.

Self-Consciousness vs Self-Awareness by Aaron Perry

When I was in my early twenties, I was really good at softball. I could play defense, run reasonably well, and hit for power. I got better because I had a coach, Gordon, who watched me play and gave me pointers. As a result, I positioned myself intentionally at third base depending on the batter. I chose a heavier bat more frequently. I positioned my feet strategically in the batter’s box.

As life took over, I quit playing softball. Because I missed the atmosphere and the camaraderie, I picked the sport back up in my mid-thirties. Between my early twenties and mid-thirties, however, I got married, added three children, and bought a house. I also lost my softball skills. While I was no longer any good at softball, I thought I could get better. So I took my coach’s spot: I started analyzing my own game and made appropriate adjustments. But the changes didn’t come as quickly as I wanted. I tried harder. I made more changes. Rather than improving, I became rigid. I was too concerned about several minor adjustments and I forgot about playing the actual game for fun.

This difference in experience—exhibited by my early twenties and my mid-thirties softball self—is vital for leaders. It is the difference between self-awareness and self-consciousness. My early softball self was self-aware; my later softball self was self-conscious. Good leadership requires self-awareness: a leader knowing herself by acknowledging her gifts and limits to set herself up for success.

John Maxwell once said something like, “Everyone who is a success found out what they’re good at.” Finding our what you’re good at is the journey of self-awareness, but it can also become the journey of self-consciousness if you become obsessed with looking at yourself. Leaders must be courageous in being self-aware but cautious at becoming self-conscious. Here are some differences between self-consciousness and self-awareness.

SELF-CONSCIOUSNESS

Self-knowledge is crippling

Rigid

Embarrassed by faults

Focused on how others perceive self

Easily offended/demanding as defense

SELF-AWARENESS

Self-knowledge is actionable

Flexible within limits

Comfortable with self

Aware of gifts that can serve others

Aware of tendencies under pressure

This is hardly an exhaustive list; more distinctions could be drawn. But I’ll offer an illuminating character sketch from C.S. Lewis.

“I’ve got to have my rights, see?”

The words come from one of C.S. Lewis’ heaven-touring ghosts in his classic, The Great Divorce. The speaker—a burly sort of brute willing to enforce his will with fists, is quite a strong fellow from an earthly perspective. He seems to have had a management position where he made life difficult for those under his leadership. But his self-affirmation cripples him in heaven. He cannot go on by his own strength, demanding that he get what’s coming to him. The burly ghost is self-conscious, aware of what he wants and what he demands. Yet he is completely lacking in self-awareness. He does not realize that in this new world, a demanding, self-promoting will won’t get him anywhere.

I study leadership from a theological perspective, so when I consider leaders who are self-conscious vs. leaders who are self-aware, I think of the initial story of idolatry. You know the story from the Garden of Eden. When that bit of attention was paid to the initial couple’s own desires and they set those desires above and beyond the desires of the Creator, with disastrous consequences. St Augustine defined virtue as the right ordering of loves. We ought to love persons before things. We ought to love beauty but not before we love God. The person who loves their laptop before they love their child has a misordered love. Captured in that initial story, that little rearranging of the proper order of desires spelled consequences for an entire planet. Self-consciousness emerged as the initial couple realized they were naked and covered themselves. Self-consciousness developed as they hid from God.

Because of this disaster in our collective history, sometimes the prospect of self-assertion strikes fear in the heart of potential would-be leaders. They do not want to repeat that initial sin of misordered love, giving in to their desires; they shrink from full-throated voice, shying away from full-bodied leadership. They can fear a strong sense of self. But this shrinking shyness does not keep us from sin; it is a sign of self-consciousness.

Leaders do not avoid the route of self-consciousness by avoiding the self. The spirits of heaven, for Lewis, are not disavowing, shrinking selves. They are more real than the ghosts. They are glorious beings, full of life. They are true selves. The spirit sent to engage the burly ghost is well aware of his self—his failures, his sins, his weak desires. But rather than demanding his rights, he is able see himself rightly. The point is not to get rid of the self. It is to grow into the proper self. Leaders are not trying to do away with their desires and deny their skills. They are trying to grow them through self-knowledge.

Former counseling professor Dr. Burrell Dinkins once remarked that to play professional football, you need a big ego. Without a big ego, he argues, you’ll get pushed off the field, too easily relinquishing your spot to the next eager competitor. I think there’s a parallel to leadership. Without a sense of self—a properly aware ego—there is no leadership. People do not follow shriveled selves willingly. Having a strong ego need not be hubris. Neurologist David Owen described a twisting of the self after years of success and power as the “hubris syndrome.” Self-awareness is not about inordinate pride, but about developing an appropriate ego. Self-consciousness is an obsession with the self. Self-awareness contributing to an appropriate ego is vital for success. Self-consciousness leads to anxiety.

So how does one develop self-awareness without succumbing to idolatry and the resulting self-consciousness? Though leadership scholar Ron Heifetz writes, “You don’t change by looking in the mirror; you change by encountering differences,” self-awareness can include looking in the mirror. With a nod to the wisdom of James, we look in the mirror not just to remember our appearance. We look to see what needs to change. Self-awareness is about knowing whatis different from us and being appropriately postured to engage it critically. It is about positioning our feet in the batter’s box and picking the right bat to swing. Self-awareness might involve a look in the mirror, but it doesn’t gaze there. Self-consciousness, on the other hand, results after a second, third, fourth look in the mirror. Self-consciousness grows alongside obsession with the mirror. Self-consciousness thinks that what it sees in the mirror is what everyone else sees, too.

Let’s apply some of these reflections. Do you know what your leadership self looks like? When was the last time you paused to do some self-reflection? Or to do some evaluation with a trusted, honest, and courageous friend, colleague, or follower? If you can’t remember what you look like, you might want to take a peek back in the mirror.

On the other hand, spiritual disciplines author Richard Foster once remarked that we need to stop taking our spiritual temperatures so frequently. Likewise with self-awareness. After getting some pointers, I needed to get back to playing softball. I needed to test the hitting hypotheses.

What do you know about yourself right now that could influence your way of acting in the world? Put it to use. Try it out. Make a change. [Don’t get stuck staring into the mirror. Self-conscious leaders will lead organizations into being stuck—afraid to move, crippled because only a perfect action will suffice. Self-aware leaders will position themselves well and help others to do so, as well, free to swing hard, run hard, and enjoy playing.

A Grief In Birth by Aaron Perry

I’ve never been pregnant. I watched my wife, a complete champion, bear three children with heroic efforts. Bearing a child means to carry the child through pregnancy to birth, when the child is born. Leading up to the birth, there are contractions. Contractions prepare the body to deliver the baby by shortening uterine muscles and dilating the cervix. As the uterus contracts and the cervix expands, the baby passes through the birth canal. But that description is deceptively simple. Like I said, it took heroic efforts.

And a midwife. By no means could I keep my wits through the process to support my wife to any great extent. I was able to boil water (stereotypes to the wind!), rub her back, cheer her on, and grab towels. But a midwife helped keep me together and coached my wife along. I’ll come back to this point.

My Dad died on October 17, 2018. It was about 30 months after a terminal liver cancer diagnosis. My Dad taught me many things; he was teaching us until the day he died. My brother, Tim, summed it well: He taught us to die slowly. By God’s grace, most of my Dad’s final 30 months were quite enjoyable. He had a good quality and quantity of life post-diagnosis. A doctor helped us to frame the situation: Dad refused to surrender to death easily and fought in such a way that he won many battles, though it was a losing war.

I am now learning to grieve. And my Dad isn’t here to teach me. I watched grief and experienced grief after the deaths of grandparents. But, like pregnancies, deaths and their grieving are unique. My Dad’s grief for his own parents was different from my own. C.S. Lewis noted after the death of his wife that he didn’t know grief felt so much like fear. The fear I have is that I won’t grieve – or that I won’t grieve well. I have had my tears, but what is grief supposed to look like? How will I know I’ve grieved?

Every pregnancy was different. My children were all carried differently. They sat in different positions and they liked different foods; they rested and played at different times, all within my wife’s body. I recall one time when my unborn daughter (though I didn’t know the child was a girl at the time) was awake but my wife was asleep. We played a little game of tag. I would tap my wife’s abdomen and wait for the response: a kick. I would wait just a bit and then tap again. Another brief pause and then another kick. There was a little life inside my wife, completely dependent on her to survive yet with a life and will of her own.

I’m taught and I teach that grief comes in waves. It’s true; I don’t deny it. Grief often comes in force and then recedes. But (so far) not for me. I wait for the waves, but they don’t come. There are only brief laps at the beach’s edge, laps that dissipate without foam, even, into the sand. I want more.

Back to the midwife. My wife learned to handle contractions in waves: accept them as they come, breathing and staying as relaxed as possible, and, finally, letting them go. I don’t know what a contraction feels like and I don’t know what grieving—this grieving, at least—is supposed to feel like. This unique grieving has taken the form of irritability, temptation, weariness, flashes of drive and energy.

I take these experiences as contractions. You can’t stop contractions and you can’t speed them up. They come and they go. Contractions prepare the body to birth a baby. They intensify and bring urges to push; the body wants to deliver the baby. In a similar way, I want to control my grief. I want to speed up the waves. I want to be delivered of my grief.

“Heather, on the next contraction, you are going to want to push. You are going to want to push very, very badly, but I need you not to push. If you push, you are going to blast that baby right out of you.” That was some of the most memorable support the midwife gave my wife. The contractions were working, but the body was not yet ready to be delivered of the baby.

I want to blast this grief right out of me. But I can’t. At least, it will be harmful if I do. I need to hold on and let the grief come; let these grieving moments do their work until the grief is fully delivered. I need to do this without breaking trust—without giving into the irritability, the temptation, the manic drive. C.S. Lewis didn’t know grief felt so much like fear; I didn’t know grief took so much faith.

The Troubled Savior by Aaron Perry

“Do not let your hearts be troubled” (John 14:1-31).

Imagine how the disciples are feeling in this moment. Jesus has just predicted Peter’s denial and another’s betrayal: they could hardly be a happy group. How would his words have been heard? Would they have been comforting?

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.” Certainly more easily said than done. How are we to hear them? The word “troubled” has been used before in John’s Gospel.

Jesus was troubled when Martha wept at Lazarus’ death (11:33); Jesus was troubled as he saw the time for his death had come (12:27); Jesus was troubled when he told the disciples of Judas’ coming betrayal (13:21). Do you see the connection? They are all connected with Jesus’ death. (Read the previous article in this brief series to see the connection with Martha’s weeping at Lazarus’ and Jesus’ death.)

Jesus was troubled at his own death, yet he tells the disciples not to be troubled. Why would he do this? Better yet, how could he do this? Isn’t it inconsistent?

Recall John’s narrative of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. John tells us that the hour had come for Jesus to go to the Father and that Jesus, having loved those who belonged to him, now showed them his love to the full (13:1). In washing the disciples’ feet, Jesus took the posture of a slave, a posture Jesus would show fully on the cross. So, why was Jesus troubled by his own death, but told the disciples not to be troubled?

Because Jesus was taking their trouble on himself. Jesus was troubled because he was going to die a death that would make a way for their life. He took their “trouble” and made it his own so that his life could be made theirs. He took their trouble, so there was no need for them to be troubled.

Let’s go a little deeper. Jesus said he was going to the Father and that the disciples would follow at a later time (13:36) and by going to the Father, Jesus would make room for us to abide (14:2). Jesus also said that he and the Father will come to abide (“make our home”) with those who love Jesus (14:23).

Do you see what is happening? Just as God made a way through the waters in the Exodus (and recalled in Isaiah 43:16), so does Jesus walk on the water in John’s Gospel (6:16-24). When pressed by the disciples’ ignorance of where he is going and their subsequent ignorance of the way, Jesus says, “I am the way” (14:6). Jesus is the way to the Father. Through his death, Jesus opens a way to the Father. He has made a way through trouble by his death and so while his death troubles Jesus, through it he is able to say, “Do not be troubled.”

“Wait a minute,” you might be asking. “Didn’t Jesus say that in this world we would have trouble?” The phrase comes from John 16:33, but John uses a different word here. In John 14, John uses the word tarasso (trouble) whereas in John 16:33 he uses the word thlipsis (tribulation).

We might say it like this: Don’t let the tribulations trouble you. Tribulations are those things that press us down, that afflict us. They are profound and they matter. They are the expected pressures and trials of life, of being part of a world at odds with God. But trouble is a deeper disquiet, anxiety, uneasiness. Trials will come and even so troubles can be dismissed because Jesus has made a way. The deepest danger of life has been solved.

But this brings us back to the start, doesn’t it? Don’t be troubled? Isn’t that easier said than done? It is.

It is hard to endure the tribulations and to dismiss the trouble. Let me draw a seemingly light-hearted parallel. “Don’t worry; be happy.” Do you remember the phrase? If not, then go to YouTube and watch the video. Even if you don’t know the song, the phrase can still be heard in everyday conversation, even 30 years after it was used as the title of Bobby McFerrin’s hypnotic tune that stayed atop Billboard Hot 100 chart for two weeks in 1988. The words are effortless, epitomizing what it means to be “easier said than done.”

If you’ve ever been told, “Don’t worry; be happy,” “Calm down!”, “Just take it easy,” “Settle down,” or, for our purposes, “Don’t be troubled,” you might know that the words can have the opposite effect. Without due seriousness, they can sound dismissive, raising our suspicion rather than calming our nerves, coming across as condescending rather than empathetic. Depending, of course, on the speaker. “Don’t worry; be happy.” McFerrin’s song was prevalent on the relaxed island in the wake of Hurricane Gilbert. If the words came from a Jamaican survivor of this devastating hurricane, then you might pay attention. When people have gone through actual turmoil, pain, and anxiety, their words might carry a little more weight. I think we can learn to take at his word the one who gave us these words.

“Do not be troubled” means something coming from the one who took our trouble on himself and made a way through his own trouble.

These are not easy words; they are good words. They are not flippant words, rolling off the tongue; they are earned words, spoken because the cross was endured. So, how ought we to hear these words?

Perhaps, especially on days when their application seems so impossible, we can hear them as a promise. A way has been made; a day is coming when our hearts will not need be troubled.

The One You Love Is Sick by Aaron Perry

My Dad was diagnosed about six weeks before we were to move. We suspected for a while that he was sick, but didn’t know just how sick he was until he was diagnosed with Stage 4 liver cancer. There was also cancer in his bowel and in his lung.

My family had planned and announced a major move from Canada to the USA and could only move forward by faith. “God, this process of discernment has been centered on you. You could have unfolded things in a different way. We are proceeding by faith that you have unfolded with reason and intention.” That was my attitude. My words of prayer weren’t always quite so clear.

To say we were shocked would be an understatement: it was like living in a foggy dream. There was a constant blur and thickness to the world that made navigating difficult, even though in the moment you thought you were coping quite well. After moving, I coped by hauling my family back and forth across three or four states and provinces (and not the small ones) to visit my parents several times in a 12-month period.

I coped by visiting my Dad.

Thanks be to God, my Dad is doing very well. And my family is recovering from the burst of travel. After two years, I think I am emerging from the fog. I am starting to reflect on what God may have done in those visits.

Visiting the sick has a profound impact on the soul. John Wesley, in his sermon “On Visiting the Sick,” said that visiting the sick was a work of mercy, a “plain duty” for all in health, though “almost universally neglected.” The sick are those in some kind of affliction—whether in body or mind.

One of the reasons that Wesley encourages visitation is because it produces empathy. He warns that the rich do not understand the poor because they so seldom visit them. Those of us who are well might not understand the ill if we do not visit them.

Perhaps this notion of visiting the ill can illuminate the incarnate visitation of our Lord by reflecting on John 11:45-57. Let me start by asking: What would you do for a loved one who was sick? In John 4, the official begged Jesus to heal his son. Don’t miss his desperation! Whereas Jesus said that he had no honor in his hometown, the official acts as if Jesus is the most important person in the world. The official holds nothing back! Now, in John 11, we read about the sickness of Lazarus, a sickness that results in death before Jesus raises Lazarus up. The story ends in triumph, an affirmation of Jesus’ identity—“I am the resurrection and the life”—but hidden in the story is a sinister plot and a beautiful love; a story of what one might do for the loved one who is sick.

Before raising Lazarus, Jesus weeps (11:35), is deeply moved (11:38), and is troubled (11:33). I do not think these are expressions of sorrow at Lazarus’ death. If they are, they are oddly timed. Why would Jesus express sorrow when he’s on the cusp of raising Lazarus from the dead? Some remark, “See how he loved him!” (11:36), but, as has been frequent in John’s gospel, the observers are only half right. They think it’s a sign of sorrow, but they don’t know what’s coming next! They only get a surface read of the situation.

On the contrary, I do not think it is Lazarus’ death that troubles Jesus; it is his own. For what he is about to do—raise Lazarus—will lead to his own death. Jesus is troubled and Jesus weeps because if he does for Lazarus what he has come to do (11:11b), then it will lead to his own death.

This sacrifice becomes clear in 11:45. Did you see the word that started it off? “Therefore” (v. 45)! Because of this miracle, some go to the Pharisees, who, along with the chief priests, call a meeting of the Sanhedrin (11:47). Raising Lazarus is the final straw for them!

Notice that they see what is happening. Yet while they see the miraculous signs (11:47), they do not respond in faith, but in fear. They fear a continued uprising around Jesus will result in the trampling of their temple and the destruction of their nation (11:48). So, Caiaphas cuts to the chase: Jesus needs to die. “It is better…that one man die for the people than that the whole nation perish” (11:50) and so they plot to take his life (11:53).

That is the sinister plot. Where is the beautiful love?

Before raising Lazarus, Jesus weeps and is troubled because there will be no turning back from the cross. He was called the lamb of God and now he will become the slaughtered lamb (Isaiah 53:7). He will sacrifice his life for Lazarus’ life. Jesus raised a sick man who has died from sickness and we can say, remembering the prophet Isaiah, that Lazarus’ healing led to Jesus’ wounds (Isaiah 53:5).

Which brings me back to our earlier question. What would you do for a loved one who is sick?

Ultimately, the question is not about us. The question really isn’t about the official and his son (John 4); it isn’t about Martha and Mary and their brother. It is about God and his Son. In Isaiah, upon seeing the plight of his people and the Lord’s desire to send a prophet, Isaiah steps forward: “Here am I. Send me!”

With Isaiah in mind, I start to hear the word that comes to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick” not simply as word from Mary and Martha to Jesus. It is also the word that the Son carries to the Father. “Lord, the one you love is sick” is the word of the Son to the Father along with the Son’s obedient attitude: “Here am I. Send me!”

This word is prompted by the Father’s love and results in the Father’s delighted sending. Both are giving for the one who is sick.

What would God do for the loved one who is sick? He would take on flesh, go to a cross, and die so that the loved one would be healed. Yet, praise God, while Lazarus’ sickness would yet end in temporary death, Jesus’ death was followed by resurrection.

Perhaps that can be our ministry of visitation to the sick: Those with life visiting those whose life is under distress as a ministry of the Son of God visiting all of us, the loved one of God who is sick. Perhaps, then, we learn to identify not just with the sick, but in the resurrection of Christ, as well.

He’s On His Way by Aaron Perry

“Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.

Therefore keep watch; or be alert; it can even be translated, “Stay awake!” Be diligent and expectant. Jesus makes it clear: Wouldn’t you keep watch if you knew a thief was coming? Wouldn’t you persevere just a little longer? Wouldn’t you fight sleep and slumber? Wouldn’t you stay up, stay awake and be alert? Of course you would! So be ready, be alert, be awake knowing that judgment will come as well. But notice the person of judgment: the Son of Man; Jesus himself. You don’t know when I will come, so stay alert, stay sharp, stay awake! – Matthew 24:42-44

The wisdom of the church and direction of the Holy Spirit places Jesus’ temple discourse to be read during Advent—each Advent. (I’ve read from Matthew and I know we’re not in Year A when Matthew is read, but let’s call it devotional privilege.) There are warnings of destruction and coming judgment: perhaps a fitting warning for our culture.

Christmas can become the same thing for us. Whether it’s “Happy Holidays” or “Merry Christmas,” it has become a sinister distraction throughout our culture. To phrase it as a non-believing neighbor and dear friend told me, “It’s all about the magic.” What was once meant to be the pointer has become the object of attention. What was once meant to draw us back to God has gotten between us and God. Our pace changes, it becomes frenetic—struggling to see people, purchase just the right gifts, see the plays, perform the parts, put on the pageants, pull in the pagans—talk about the temptations of being in church leadership, the life of our students!—Christmas can become a distraction from God.

May this whole ordeal be to us what it is to the world: a sign. It’s not the problem; it’s evidence of the problem. It’s not the illness; it’s only a symptom. It’s evidence that we can do exactly what happened in Eden, what happened with the temple and its beautiful stones, what happens in the minutiae of all our lives.

Inane Christmas simply reminds us that we are constantly challenged to construct a world without God. A Christless Christmas is evidence that we try to create a godless world. The temple, the city of Jerusalem had become godless centers and Jesus’ words of judgment came precisely because they had lost the purpose for which they were originally called.

And the warning comes to us, as well. We can construct a world in which God is not necessary. The things that are meant to point us to God—family, community, food, presents, love, feasting—can take the focus, instead of pointing us to God, they can take the place of God. They are things we can love too much. In that situation, Jesus’ words of judgment mean the same thing to us: To the extent that I, to the extent that you, to the extent that we have constructed a world without God, God will destroy that world. And the day of that judgment will come without our expectation. It will come on us quickly. It will come on us unexpected. And the world in which God only occupies the borders, the world in which God plays no role will be destroyed.

But just like Tolkien’s wizard who never arrives late, but precisely when he means to, Jesus’ words come to us at just the right time. They come to us before it is too late. They come to us while we may yet be alert; while we may yet watch; while we may yet wake up! They come to us right at the start of the year. Like that annoying alarm clock that goes off at the start of the day to keep us on time, Jesus’ words come to us at the start of the year to keep us in line! The alarm clock is only bad news if it has been set to the wrong time and we awake realizing the time of preparation is over. But when the alarm goes off at the appropriate time, then, “Good news!”

Jesus’ words still give us time to wake up—and to wake others. Awake from senseless slumber! God is calling us to wake up from the story that has lulled us to sleep! He is calling us to awake from the senseless story of consumerism—the story that says my safety is in what I own; he is calling us to awake from the senseless story of elitism—where I am the most important part of every story around me—the story of my rights, my way, my wants; he is calling us to awake from the senseless story of division that seeks isolated identity in not being another; he is calling us to awake from the senseless story of unnecessary financial gain and unholy profit as setting what matters in my life; he is calling us to awake from the senseless story of ease and comfort to a life of sacrifice and service.

The words of Jesus—carried on the breath of Jesus so long ago—are now the words of Jesus carried by the Spirit of Jesus to us today.

I was cleaning up tables during one of the final sessions of a conference I had organized at my local church. I was in the gym and my wife sat in the session. Here’s the irony: it was a marriage conference. My wife was in session of a marriage conference, but I wanted to clean up the tables. I wanted to get a head start. The Spirit spoke to me. “Go back to the session.” It wasn’t an audible voice. It wasn’t even a strong impression, but by God’s grace, I knew the Spirit. I initially shrugged off the guidance and said, “I will be back in just a few minutes.” But little did I know that the words were not early. They were right on time. “Go back to the session.” The Holy Spirit spoke to me: “What am I here for?” If I was going to ignore the promptings of the Spirit, then what role did he play in my life? Why invite the presence of God, why pray, why study Scripture if in the moment he gave guidance, I would go a different direction? His words were not early and praise God they were not too late.

The words of Jesus—carried on the breath of Jesus so long ago—are now the words of Jesus carried by the Spirit of Jesus to us today.

Is the Spirit gently calling you to wakefulness? Is he calling you to awake from slumber? Is he calling you to be alert? To watch? Is he calling us to repent?

Let’s listen to him.

The Spirit only calls us into the world that is being remade, restored, redesigned, reconstructed, out of the world that is headed for destruction. He is calling us out of a world that has left no room for him and into a world that will be flooded with God.

Boundaries And Forgiveness by Aaron Perry

Jesus taught that if, when offering a gift to God at the altar, you remember a brother or sister has something against you, you should go and be reconciled and then return to offer your gift (Matt. 5:24). I get the impression that reconciliation is the gift God intends to give the worshipper—even before a gift has been brought to God.

Reconciliation is a complex subject because it involves three contexts: the offended, the offender, and the previous (or ongoing) relationship between the two. And reconciliation is so serious that if reconciliation is not forthcoming between two parties in the church, Jesus offered the resources of the family of faith and even his very presence to help (Matt. 18:15-20). Reconciliation is so important that Jesus put responsibility on both the offended (Matt. 18:15: “If your brother or sister sins,” with some manuscripts adding “against you”) and the offender (Matt. 5:23: “your brother or sister has something against you”) to seek reconciliation.

Is there a greater witness to the power of God than reconciliation? In an age of fast and loose friendship, of digital unfriending where one can “friend” without befriending, and when political candidates caused rifts between previously functional families and long-time friends, could a more courageous practice than reconciliation be imagined? As a Wesleyan, my hope in the ability of God to reconcile even the hardest of situations remains high; furthermore, as a Wesleyan, my appreciation for wisdom and practical theology runs deep. Reconciliation brings together hope and wisdom like no other challenge because reconciliation can take hard work and sometimes only happens over time.

“Build the wall!” Perhaps the most memorable phrase of the 2016 election, it captured and made concrete the policy desire to increase border security and immigration regulation. It captured the imagination not only because it rolled much more easily off the tongue than typical policy speak, but also because it is something that each of us has been tempted to do: build walls in our own personal relationships. For our own emotional safety, we have constructed walls between ourselves and another and tightened regulations about when and how the other can (re-)enter our lives. But how do we connect this kind of personal “border security” with the call to be reconciled? How do we have boundaries while maintaining openness to be reconciled? OK. Let’s put away the political connotations for a bit. Let’s overlap this metaphor with a framework of forgiveness to see how it might help us understand boundaries and reconciliation.

Three Kinds of Forgiveness

Steve Sandage describes three different kinds of forgiveness1:

Legal forgiveness: this forgiveness is an act of the will, allowing another to forego punishment. Sandage notes that in couples’ therapy, legal forgiveness might be a commitment to “bite one’s tongue”—not to respond with hostility or to be aggressive in arguing one’s side at every opportunity.
Therapeutic forgiveness: Whereas legal forgiveness can be done instantly—and might be needed in an instant!—therapeutic forgiveness takes time. This is a place of healing for the offended. Without excusing the offense, the offended sees the offender in a new light and starts to bear empathy toward the offender’s own self and story. In this empathy and reconsideration of one’s story, there is healing.
Redemptive forgiveness: This is the aim of the previous approaches to forgiveness. The full expression of forgiveness is reconciliation and redemption, so that God may transform our relationships not only with God but with each other.

Personal Boundaries

Before placing each category of forgiveness into the wall metaphor, let’s consider boundaries. We all have boundaries—invisible and visible lines inside of which we are safe and at ease. Some boundaries are very easy to identify. Skin is a physical boundary, so if you break my skin and I’m okay with it, then it’s likely that you’re a surgeon, nurse, or phlebotomist. (I don’t have a tattoo and don’t plan on getting one.)

Other boundaries are harder to determine and may be relative. Some people hug everyone, some people hug only a few, and some people don’t hug. Time boundaries are also relative. For example, it likely depends on your relationship for how long a person might spend at your house and not cross your boundaries. My mom has a phrase: “Fish and visitors stink after three days.” My guess is that if you’ve been a guest in my parents’ house and stayed longer than three days, then you’re either a really good friend or you’ve never been invited back.

We also have emotional boundaries. When another makes fun of something precious to our lives, overextends their help in a way that feels demeaning, or takes from us without asking, our emotional boundaries are crossed.

When boundaries are crossed, there is usually pain, but sometimes pleasure. Boundaries can be broached in ways that are exciting or comforting, such as when another extends into the beloved’s space to embrace or kiss or when deep knowledge of a person is used not to abuse, but to serve. For our purposes, I want to focus on when boundaries are crossed and there is discomfort and pain.

Boundaries should get marked definitively when there is pain at their crossing. A boundary might get marked by saying, “That makes me uncomfortable,” “That hurts my feelings,” or simply, “No.” Unfortunately, sometimes we do not mark boundaries and the offending person might continue to trespass boundaries without awareness or without care. When the unaware offender realizes there is a boundary, they might respect the boundary, but when the apathetic offender realizes there is a boundary, they will continue to break it over and over again. In these times, we must build a wall. Boundaries that will not be respected must be protected.

But just what kind of wall is built matters a great deal. Some walls (figuratively) are built with razor wire, spikes, armed turrets, and alligator-lined moats. These walls are dangerous. They are meant to be dangerous. They mark boundaries and warn the trespasser not to approach them—ever. They are weaponized walls: what was supposed to protect will be used to attack if given the chance.

Other walls are built with no less strength but are simply defensive. Rather than being lined with razor wire, they are lined with padding on the outside. When the offender comes close to the offended, they are not injured, but neither can they broach the wall. An attitude that seeks not to escalate ongoing conflict and not to react aggressively at any opportunity builds the padded wall.

Legal Forgiveness

Legal forgiveness is the padded wall. An attitude of legal forgiveness does not pretend that there is a functional relationship, but neither does it perpetuate the conflict. Legal forgiveness has marked boundaries and judged that what happened was wrong, but does not seek to attack given the opportunity.

Let’s put this back in Jesus’ teaching. Suppose you are the offended person who has built a wall. What might the offender find if they have left their gift at the altar to be reconciled to you? Will they be impaled on spikes? Nipped by the released hounds? Will the wall that is constructed become your weapon to inflict pain on them? It’s only a matter of time in life before any person needs to approach another for forgiveness and wonders what reception might be waiting for them.

Therapeutic Forgiveness

But why build walls at all? Like a surgeon cutting the same incision over and over again, when boundaries continue to be trespassed, there cannot be healing. When there are no walls and the wrong, unwanted, and/or misguided crossing of boundaries continues without correction, then forgiveness is simply not the right action. There can be no meaningful forgiveness in the midst of intentional, ongoing injustice.2 This is not to say that the offended, who in the case of ongoing injustice is powerless to achieve change, must harbor bitterness, angst, and frustration. It is only to say that that kind of grace and freedom is best described as gracious suffering, not forgiveness. The offended may be afforded a kind of emotional peace by God in the midst of ongoing injustice, but forgiveness is not the appropriate action.3

So, why build walls? We build walls on our boundaries in order to allow for healing. Walls built with legal forgiveness allow for therapeutic healing to happen behind them. They are meant to stop the offense so that the offended may recover, heal, and grow without worry that the offenses are going to continue unchecked.

Redemptive Forgiveness

Redemptive forgiveness recognizes that there is still ongoing work and opportunity even when boundaries are marked and healing has taken place. Forgiveness where injustice has ceased and therapeutic healing is taking place might still lead to reconciliation. Once there is healing, made possible by the wall, redemptive forgiveness allows for the crossing of boundaries once again, but with safety and security.

Let’s go back to Jesus’ command to leave our offering gift. The person who has left their gift at the altar and has encountered a padded wall now knows that a wall exists around the other person. Behind the padded wall, there is therapeutic healing taking place. Whether or not the time is right to access the door in the wall is unknown to the offender. Yet both offended and offender is called to aim at reconciliation. Again, whether or not reconciliation is possible in this life is very complex (and beyond the scope of one blog to address). But if both the offended and offender believe that following Jesus’ teaching is possible, then they must be aimed at reconciliation. This is redemptive forgiveness: doors and windows are added and walls may even be removed over time. The removal of the wall does not mean that boundaries no longer exist, but that a relationship may be marked by such safety, security, and trust that marking the boundaries with walls is no longer necessary. Redemptive forgiveness aims at the removal of walls, though it may start by opening doors and establishing guidelines for coming through the walls.

Conclusion

My first home left quite a bit to be desired—including central heat and about 200 square feet of exposed block in the basement. Given that I lived in Canada, building a wall to insulate the exposed block was one of my first projects. But I had never built a wall before. It remained daunting and mysterious to me—even with YouTube’s tutorials. Luckily, I had a willing and talented friend to help me frame and insulate a wall. The job was completed faster and better than it would have been on my own.

I think that’s how the walls we’ve talked about above are to be built: with the help of a friend. Unlike physical walls, it is sometimes easier to construct emotional walls on our own. Building walls with a friend helps keep us accountable to crafting the walls not as weapons but as protections. Friends help us make sure that walls mark our boundaries and don’t unnecessarily expand them. Friends who help us build walls can be given permission to see that there is healing work happening behind them.

1 Steven J Sandage and F. LeRon Shults, Faces of Forgiveness: Searching for Wholeness and Salvation; (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2003), especially Introduction and Section 1. While Sandage has deepened and modified some of the following, this thought is rooted in his taxonomy.

2 This is not to deny what peacemaking experts like Ken Sande might call “overlooking.” Healthy people can overlook an offense out of a sense of security and self. This ought not to be an ongoing action. Overlooking offenses is only possible by people with differentiated selves — people who have boundaries and know what they are. Overlooking the same offense either slips into a denial of the offense or is an indication that a person lacks a self and the ability to overlook an offense. In the latter case, they are not overlooking, but possibly being victimized or subjecting themselves to offense complicitly.

3 I owe part of this line of thinking to Fleming Rutledge, The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans).

Boundaries, Barriers And Pastoral Leadership by Aaron Perry

Now that the heat sparked from the light shed on Vice President Mike Pence’s personal rules of not attending cocktail parties without his wife and of not dining alone with women has dwindled, let’s take a few moments to reflect more evenly on the practice of personal rules and boundaries in opposite-sex professional relationships in the pastoral context. I do not presume to speak to fields other than pastoral ministry and Christian leadership, nor do I presume to offer a rule for all people. Rather, I want to help pastors and Christian leaders understand some of the framework for developing their own rules. While the issue of professional boundaries is not limited to opposite-sex relationships, this article most clearly addresses that context.

Let me start with a story. When I was about 10 years old, a neighbor paid to have a small parcel of land surveyed in order to build on it. Little did I know that land surveys cost more money than I could earn in an afternoon of grass cutting; all I knew was that those little sticks poking out of the ground at various points hampered playing football in the open lot next to my home. So, up the stakes came, removed from the field of play before each game. We did our best to put the stakes back in the right spots, but who could really tell if we did? And who cared? We had a sense of where the property started and stopped.

There are different stakeholders when it comes to boundaries. My friends and I had a stake in not being impaled by inconvenient objects when running, diving, and jumping as we pursued professional football dreams. Being impaled could hurt your draft status! The property owner had a stake in having clear markers of the land that belonged to him. To put it playfully, we both had stakes in the stakes. The same is true in boundaries in professional relationships between opposite sexes in Christian leadership and pastoral ministry. The boundaries that are set up have implications for different people. Different parties have different stakes in the stakes. Thus, boundaries are not—and cannot—be individual constructs. They are formed in relationship and these relationships will often plant stakes that are in tension with each other. Without being aware of the stakeholders, we do a disservice to a few people that we ought to be honoring. In ministry settings, I’ve identified four stakeholders—four people who ought to help determine where the boundaries get drawn. These are four people with stakes in the stakes.

The pastor/leader has a stake in the stakes.Whether a woman or man, the leader is a stakeholder in professional boundaries. She or he has an internal compass, a sense of right and wrong, appropriate and inappropriate, wise and foolish. Their stake is set by their own tradition, foibles, weaknesses, experiences, narratives, and opinions. A person in spiritual leadership cannot disregard their own sense of propriety or conviction when creating boundaries with the opposite sex, so they must consider their own self when setting boundaries. Recognize, then, that you have a stake in your boundaries.
The spouse of the pastor/leader has a stake in the stakes.No less than the conviction of the pastor/leader, the conviction of the spouse must be considered. In Christ, there is mutual submission between wives and husbands so the convictions of the spouse matter. The pastor/leader must factor how his or her spouse feels—not just thinks, but feels—in setting boundaries in professional relationships. In unhealthy relationships, one spouse, either the one setting boundaries or the one sharing their own convictions, can call all the shots, always using their veto. Of course, this is not the goal of healthy relationships. Rather than mutual submission, this is a kind of domination. Instead, mutually submissive relationships will seek to factor both convictions in pursuit of practical wisdom in boundaries in professional relationships. Recognize that your spouse has a stake in your boundaries.
The professional colleague has a stake in the stakes. This stakeholder is becoming more and more visible. And they must remain a prominent stakeholder because their interests matter. The boundaries that the leader draws have real implications for the people they impact. Boundaries are useful only inasmuch as they mark someone or something “in” and someone or something “out.” The leader/pastor’s boundaries will do just the same. And they will not always do so fairly. When men in leadership only meet alone with men, then key decisions are skewed with a set of values that might not represent both sexes. If the pastor/leader has a rule not to meet with the opposite sex privately, but is not aware that private meetings with the same sex will inevitably develop deeper professional friendships, trust, and confidence than their other friendships, then there will be professional injustice. Some will get more opportunities simply by virtue of their gender and the boundaries of the leader. Of course, while less often considered, unhealthy relationships can develop between members of the same sex, too. Unhealthy relationships may include same-sex attraction, codependency, and groupthink. Appropriate boundaries will not simply focus on sexual issues, but any interaction that may keep the colleague from thriving for accidental reasons. Recognize that the professional colleague has a stake in your boundaries.
The church/organization has a stake in the stakes.Finally, the church or organization that the pastor/leader serves is a stakeholder. The pastor/leader’s boundaries will have implications for the church and the church/organization also has boundaries. Sometimes these boundaries are written; sometimes they are not. When they are written and approved by a formal board as policy, then there can be clarity. More common, however, is an unwritten boundary that many people know about and that remains unshared until it is crossed. Moreover, people know why it is a boundary. Sometimes boundaries exist to keep sinful, wrong, and inappropriate things from happening. Sometimes boundaries exist because sinful, wrong, and inappropriate things have happened. Organizations do not always craft and publish boundaries in the fallout from these breakdowns. Pastors/leaders will do well to discover what stakes their church/organization has already laid down and to see how their own stakes line up. The church and organization has a stake in your boundaries.

So, how do these stakeholders influence crafting appropriate boundaries? Obviously, there will be tension in the boundaries that each stakeholder would draw. If each stakeholder was allowed to put down stakes, some might have a nice, square boundary with four pegs, trusting a person will know when to step outside the boundaries without issue. Some would have thirty stakes, weaving in and out at various angles to accommodate the various contingencies that could arise. The complexity of life demands the complexity of the boundary. Yet, tension is not a bad thing. In fact, it can be a good thing. It can help us get outside our own considerations, to be stretched, and to have collective wisdom. With the various stakeholders in mind, here are some internal and external actions that could help develop working, consistent, and wise boundaries in professional relationships.

Take periodic surveys.Every day provides new twists in traditions, new experiences to be assimilated, outside opinions to be considered, and growth (or regression) in the weaknesses and strengths in the leader. Thus, the stakes of this stakeholder will be changing. The boundaries that made sense at one point in time will not make sense at others. Leaders and pastors should take periodic review of their own personal boundaries because their personal stakes might be changing. The same is true of the pastor or leader’s spouse. Spouses are not static. They grow in wisdom, maturity, grace, and insight. Sometimes general rules of relationships shift over time and the practice stops matching the policy, whether written or unwritten. In other words, stakes do not make boundaries; they mark boundaries. Take periodic surveys to see if your stakes are still marking the boundaries that need to be marked or if they need to be changed and re-aligned.
Think creatively inside the box.Once your stakes are understood, think creatively inside the box. For example, if you have a boundary not to meet with a person alone, can you invite along their spouse? Several times in my own pastoral ministry, I would invite a married couple to my house (or out to a restaurant) to recruit them both to a team or project. I would often have one of the couple in mind, but would try to recruit them both. Sometimes the person I had targeted would respond; sometimes the other person would respond. Sometimes they both did. Technology provides many ways of communicating, influencing, and engaging in professional relationships without surpassing boundaries. However, technology obviously provides a new context for crafting boundaries. And people use technology differently. Some people use their cell phone for all forms of communication—social media, texting, email, etc. Others use it for less tasks. While technology provides ways of remaining inside boundaries, technology also provides a new land that requires surveying and consulting the four stakeholders listed above.
Move stakes with sensitivity.When Jesus re-drew covenantal boundaries, it cost him his life. To set aside enmity between Jews and Greeks, Jesus was lifted up on the cross. To be one in Christ required the cross. Moving stakes is serious business. Especially when it comes to spousal and church values, work at understanding the full rationale for why the stakes exist in the first place. What might not be a sensible boundary marker to you that needs to be plucked up and re-established likely stems from a narrative that remains untold.
Set boundaries in light of barriers. It is naïve simply to say, “Jesus met the woman at the well” as though this settles professional relationships. What is not naïve, however, is to consider all our boundaries in light of the cross; to recognize that any barrier that Jesus tore down by his death on the cross may influence any boundary we consider staking. Jesus’ death tore down status barriers, gender barriers, ethnic barriers, so we must set conscious boundaries in light of Christ’s work and consider what unconscious boundaries within which we might be operating.

Conclusion

Whatever your opinion of Vice President Pence’s boundaries, the scrutiny he faced is something pastors and leaders might face. Rarely will your boundaries be so widely scrutinized, but with various stakeholders, scrutinized they will be. Stakeholders will not always agree or appreciate boundaries, even when their opinions have been sought and considered. So, be ready to have your stakes yanked up and tossed aside while people might run football routes across the boundary. But the stakes are much higher in your life and ministry than they were in my football game. You might need to plant the stake again and again, keeping confidence with the stakeholders who really matter. So, what other stakeholders have you discerned in this situation? What other advice would you give in the midst of finding, setting, and moving stakes?