“We cannot love what we do not know.”
This year, I have been on a 9-month journey with leadership training here in Oklahoma City. This training has put me in the same room and in fellowship with people from backgrounds that differ from mine.
I have been participating in SALLT (Salt and Light Leadership Training).
For many years my primary engagement has been with the First Stone Ministries staff and with those that our ministry would naturally reach. Most were like-minded (and that’s not wrong). What is also true is that we would have no idea how a ministry like ours might be perceived by those on the outside of our natural influence. Neither would we understand the emerging needs of those we might be best equipped to reach.
SALLT has put me in a surprising context. My SALLT class is made up of people who are growing in their faith and leadership and who want to serve our city well. The diversity of the group became clearer as we took an initial retreat, engaged in the material, met monthly, ate together, and spent time in conversation.
My class has leaders from government, people who serve non-profits addressing homelessness, foster care, education, incarceration, children and families, racial unity (I’ve been to community dinners with OK Justice Circle), and with pastoral leaders as well. I have been struck by the sincere and godly people engaged in all these places in our community. This includes an organization called Stronger Together.
It was in this context that I experienced conflict that comes from assuming something but not knowing. I had a couple of engagements with an individual at our monthly training. This conflict and its resolution may have done more to grow me than I ever expected possible. The first engagement came in a simple, getting-to-know-you moment. They sat down with me and asked what I did. Now, I have a way of initially slightly side-stepping a full description of our work. This is to give a few more minutes to build a relational foundation. So, I said that I was the ministry director of a non-profit biblical counseling work that deals with sexual sin and relational brokenness in the church. It was this person’s immediate response that set me back a bit. They asked me, “Is this conversion therapy?” (This is not a normal response to my side-stepping statements.) So, I replied, “What is conversion therapy?” They said, “Hasn’t what you do been largely discredited?” That was my tension moment.
We were interrupted then and we couldn’t talk further. What this left me with was an unsettled and frustrating preoccupation with the conversation. I also experienced a strong desire to avoid this person.
As I was in a conversation with someone new, they asked about my role as a pastor in my church. I shared about my church’s desire to ordain me and Vineyard USA extending ordination endorsement as well.
As we were talking, the person I had the earlier uncomfortable interaction with sat down and interjected, “What are your qualifications? Why do you do that?”
I immediately felt insecure, defensive, and avoidant.
Another month passed, and I knew the whole time that I needed to have a conversation with this person. I had already drawn a conclusion that they were an adversary, and I felt defensive even at the thought of being in the same room with them.
So when we gathered again, I asked if we could talk.
I began, “You and I have had a couple of conversations that felt awkward for me. I walked away thinking about them a lot. I’d like to revisit them to see what you might have been thinking.” Then, in summary, I hit the highpoints and asked, “Is there something about what I do that makes you question my credibility or the work I do?” A look of surprise overtook their face. (This was not lost on me.) They paused for a moment and then said, “Oh no! I’ve just been curious.” They went on to explain that someone they cared about might need our ministry. They didn’t know that people could be helped because they’d heard some statistics that made them think people couldn’t be helped. They went on with my role in my church. They come from a church background that doesn’t have ordination.
And, just like that, we were back on even ground. I had faced my fears and now we were talking—and that was beneficial for both of us. “Proximity dismantles assumptions.”
As I was thinking about this situation in my life, I came across The Power of Proximity. I opened this post with a quote from this book. The author and her family have a long history of stepping into uncomfortable and complicated settings, and I found that helpful as I reflected on my own experience. If I am only in settings where my perspectives and priorities are already shared, I can begin to assume more than I understand. I can draw conclusions without relationship and form judgments without proximity. To be “proximate” is to be in the space of another in a way that allows you to understand. As I choose ways to be “proximate” to others by listening a little longer, engaging my curiosity, and remaining relational, it strengthens my interactions. I’m realizing how quickly I fill in gaps when I’m not close enough to understand. I recognize that, in ministry, I might be trying to give care that someone isn’t asking for, to answer questions that someone isn’t asking, and offering right solutions in packages they can’t receive.
“Who is close enough to you to shape how you see the world?” Though I have a certain field of ministry in our 50-year-old non-profit, is the scope of my writing, my focus, my questions, my leadership, actually taking into consideration the real needs of the people who are seeking our help? It’s an important question now. How I might talk about my faith or how I talk about the help we offer might be sitting in language that cannot reach our culture. I’m not talking about adopting compromised language into our work. I am talking about finding ways for our language and “proximity” to the struggles people have to make us more effective as communicators and in how we meet the needs.
I’m realizing I need to return to a mindset that allows me to be touched by the discomfort and unknowns of being in proximity to my lost world. What might it mean to be closer to the need than I have been? While it is one thing to wait for the needs of others to come to me, what might it be to somehow go to where the needs are outside of the safety of my ministry contexts? What puts me in “proximity”?
Laura Leigh Chats 