A friend/parishioner walked into my office the other day and asked me a great question about what I planned to do after I retired. I’ve got a plan and a lot of excitement about this impending chapter in my life, so I began telling her. At the first pause between my words she began to share her experience with retirement, and that’s what we talked about for the next ten minutes.
As soon as we quit talking about me, I realized how hungry I was to talk about this new phase of my life with someone who would listen to what I was thinking, but this person was not a coach.
I’m not wanting to be too hard on my parishioner/friend. She’s a kind person who came to me with a genuine question, but her mind quickly traveled to a familiar thought of her own. I think we often ask questions with the unconscious intention of providing an opportunity to express our own thoughts. That’s a common occurrence, but that small interaction reminded me of the difference between coaching and casual conversation. Coaching requires a form of disciplined listening that we generally fail to exercise in casual conversation. It doesn’t take a genius to realize this, but this is the genius of coaching.
Gratefully, you don’t have to be brilliant to be a coach. The task of a coach is to listen for and to extract the brilliance in others. This is no small task, and it’s particularly difficult with individuals who are quick to put their genius on parade. But there aren’t any of us who don’t need a little help managing our inner wisdom, which is the work of a coach. Moving into new territory is rarely an easy journey, and there’s nothing like a well-crafted question and a listening heart to provide needed light and to promote effective action. Coaching isn’t rocket science, but done properly, a good coach will enable a client to explore their outer limits, and who doesn’t want to go on such a journey!
I’m grateful to my parishioner for asking me a good question and for inadvertently reminding me of the very thing that fuels successful coaching – hunger for more understanding of who we are and what we can do. I’m grateful for the hunger.
It’s that hunger that keeps us all asking and listening and praying and finding!
In his classic The Varieties of Religious Experience (1902), William James conducts a pragmatic examination of a large and varied sample of documented religious experiences from Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism. His pragmatic approach assumes anything that produces results must be real. He concludes the act of praying produces beneficial personal results beyond what the individual’s own self-development efforts are able to produce. James theorizes that in the less conscious recesses of our being we interact with God in a holistic and genuine way, a mysterious sacred relatedness. This is where and how spiritual healing and practical spiritual revelation occurs. This is the type of healing our own egos resist. Because, as the ego attempts to change itself, it is also seeking to maintain its status quo.
A careful review of the ICF Master Coaching Criteria reveals qualities of interaction one might intuit as sacred relatedness, similar to the relatedness James describes, we experience with the Divine at the deeper levels of our being. The following statements are a small sample selected from the ICF Master level competencies.
Please do not misunderstand what is being proposed. The coach is not taking the place of the Universal Divine within the client, but rather the coach is walking with the client into the depths of their being to explore the gifts of a Divinity that is the Ground of Being. Paradoxically, the deeper we go the more we experience higher wisdom. My first awareness of walking with another into the cavernous mystery of self-exploration came to me as a Stephens Minister. The more the person being ministered to felt my presence with them as they explored the depths and mystery of their own being, the more willing and optimistic they were about the process and potential of that exploration. This is not to suggest that Master Coaches are gods, but rather, our willingness to enter into that state of mystery with the client encourages the client to be more willing to explore and discover their undiscovered self, underutilized knowledge, skills, abilities, hopes, passions, spirit, and purposes….and their relationship with the Divine within.
The level of relatedness described above is rare and fleeting, but the benefits are powerful and lasting. The obvious benefit for the coachee is identified issues are addressed, which is important. But perhaps the more important and lasting benefit is the coachee develops trust in the process of exploring their deeper self, the confidence to engage in that process, assurance they can count on the Divine within, and the abilities to do so. The benefits for the Coach are similar. The coach and coachee are often both profoundly moved by this level of sacred relatedness.
Perhaps the greatest danger of coaching is not developing ineffective action plans, but a coaching session that ends with the coachee celebrating the skills and wisdom of the coach, giving the coach credit for the insights and action plan. This comes dangerously close to the coach playing God, and denies the client the opportunity to explore and develop their relationship with the Divine within themselves, creating a dependent relationship with the coach and undermining the client’s and the coach’s relationship with the Divine within.
A Modern Parable: The Way Life Is and the Three Little Churches by Rev. Chris Holmes
(I had the idea for creating this parable from a sermon illustration by Jackie Prim)
Once upon a time there were three little churches. One was built out of the doctrine of love, the second out of love for family, and the third out of…well…just love.
One day The Way Life Is was walking down a path that suddenly split into three different directions. He decided to follow the path on the left which led to the first little church. It was a pretty little building with a hand-painted sign out front which said, “Come experience God’s love: All are welcome!” So, he knocked on the door saying, “Little church, little church, let me come in.”
Well the people in the church took one good look at The Way Life Is and replied, “Not by the hair on our chinny, chin, chin; we will not let you in.”
After a few minutes they shoved a slip of paper under the door to him. It was a list of the 10 doctrinal positions on love to which he must first sign his agreement before they would let him come in, including that he would live and love just like them.
Just then a storm came up. It huffed and puffed and blew that little church over side-ways. The people tipped their little church back upright and, this time, buckled it down even tighter to the ground than before. They took their sign down and kept a watchful eye out for The Way Life Is and the storms that sometimes accompany it.
The Way Life Is went back and followed the path on the right which led to the second little church. It was a larger church that had a tall shiny metal fence around it. Through the gate he could see that it had tennis courts, picnic tables, a school, an indoor pool and lots of happy families with children everywhere. It too had a sign on the gate which read, “Come experience God’s love: All are welcome!” So, he knocked on the gate of the second little church saying, “Little church, little church, let me come in.”
The families all stopped what they were doing and gathered in a clump on the other side of the gate. Knowingly, they said to one another, “But he is different from us, and how do we know he won’t hurt our children?” They replied to him, “Not by the hair on our chinny, chin, chin; we will not let you in.”
Just then, a strong wind came out of nowhere and leveled all their buildings. Two months later the families bought an even larger plot of ground where they rebuilt their church far far away from everyone else. This time the metal wall around it was twice a tall as before, with signs that said, “KEEP OUT” and “NO TRESPASSING.” Guards were posted outside to protect them from The Way Life Is and the strong winds that sometimes blow through life.
Lastly, The Way Life Is followed the path straight ahead which led to the third little church. Let’s just say the small building looked well worn and sort of patched together. The crooked sign outside read, “Come experience God’s love: All are welcome!” So, he knocked on the door saying, “Little church, little church, let me come in.”
And the people of the third little church opened the door and welcomed The Way Life Is into their lives and their little church. It wasn’t always easy, but over the years as they prayed together, laughed together and raised their kids together, they realized that they were all very much alike.
Eventually, a strong storm came along, because…well, you know… that’s just the way life is sometimes. The high winds did damage to the little church, but soon the people came with boards and hammers and shingles and did their best to patch up their raggedy little church one more time.
To this very day, when you come to a three-way fork in your path, you can follow the path straight ahead and find that little church still standing. It is pretty patched up and tilts to the side quite a bit, but by God, it is still standing.
And out in front is a worn little sign which reads, “Come experience God’s love: All are welcome.” And, they mean it.
Managing your own brilliance is exceedingly difficult when you happen to be splendidly resourceful, magnificently creative, and dazzlingly gifted. But you already know this? Right!
What you may not know is how crucial that is to being a good coach. The goal of coaching is to help the person being coached live out of their own resourcefulness, their own creativity and their own dazzling giftedness. It is their brilliance we strive to elicit, requiring the coach to resist the overwhelming proclivity to make suggestions, offer solutions, and share from their vast experience.
But having said that, I concede there are a few occasions when the coach may offer a suggestion. Part of me is already regretting writing that because the slope of regression to being an expert is steep and slippery.
Here is the thing, we make two essential commitments to the people we coach. The first is to coach them in such a way that the ideas, goals and commitments are theirs. The second assurance we make is to be as straightforward and helpful as we can. When those two commitments are in conflict we may choose to break our chaste allegiance to strict coaching form, by going ahead to offer an idea or a suggestion.
This concession is a much better option than disingenuously manipulating the person toward our desired end or asking leading questions.
Here is my guidance on how, when and why to offer a suggestion in coaching.
It is reckless to swerve mindlessly in out coaching, so use your blinker when leaving the coaching lane. Ask, “Can I remove my coaching hat for a moment to make a suggestion?”
Be hasty. Get in and back out in one sentence.
Do it sparingly, in other words, almost never. Follow your intuition and when in doubt, resist the temptation.
Make this offer only when the person indicates they are feeling stuck; and in an effort to expand the range of possibilities being considered offer an idea somewhere between daring and outrageous.
Finally, if you make a suggestion in coaching, hold it lightly and observe the impact it has on the other person. You might think you have offered the best idea in the world but to them it may not be equally regarded.
Remember, the supreme principle you adhere to as a coach is that the resourcefulness, creativity and giftedness all come from the person being coached and it is your job to elicit, encourage and celebrate that brilliance. Their own ideas have the greatest chance of becoming their commitments.
So please do whatever you must to manage your own brilliance…always…OK, almost always.
I am a 58 year old preacher who hangs out at three day music festivals. There are a variety or bands, the music is loud, and the air is strong with interesting aromas. Mostly what I love though is the movement. There is nothing like being in the middle of a throng of people rocking out in a sea of dancing.
Something about that experience feeds my primal nature; it rousts my passion and widens the space in my soul for the sheer exuberance of being alive. I would also say those times to me are sanctified, not in a hands-folded way, but in a fully cued up to God kind of way. It is definitely how I picture Miriam dancing, and David dancing, and perhaps even Jesus dancing at that week-long wedding celebration that ran out of wine.
So…where do we see that music passion in worship these days? Perhaps in some freed up gospel traditions, but not much in the mainline. Thirty years ago those who were choking on organ music and hymns thought praise music held the promise, but were wrong–too sanguine, too breathy, too theologically emaciated.
Instead of, “You are worthy, worthy, worthy, worthy, worthy…” just once I would like to hear a contemporary Christian artist rock out lyrics exploring the tension in being a follower of the Prince of Peace as we drone bomb other nations. Or the struggle of a young woman who is completely in love with Jesus, and is also in love with another woman. How about some real life challenges and thick theology put to music?
Yesterday, I dialed my radio to the Christian music stations for one infuriating hour; I was just checking in to see if it had gotten better. The bad news is it hasn’t. The good news, I guess, is according to every third song God is still worthy, worthy, worthy, worthy, worthy.
So, at the next music festival if you see a tall silver-haired guy in shorts and bare feet dancing his fool heart out, consider that in some incarnate way the exuberance of life is being celebrated and something akin to real worship is being experienced.
by Chris Holmes
“Do not interrupt other people’s stories and monologues; you know better than that.”
Someone taught this to you when you were young. So, you painstakingly wait it out, let it go on and on, wonder if the person you are listening to will ever come up for air, start thinking about dinner plans.
I spend my days with exceptionally nice people evidencing good conduct and long-suffering pastoral training. One of my most challenging endeavors is teaching them how to horn into someone’s soliloquy, without being rude, and come out alive.
It is the highly nuanced skill we teach in coaching called the “art of intrusion.”
Done well it sounds like this, “Excuse me, would you be willing to put into one sentence the meaning this story holds for you?”, or “I am really interested in knowing the affect this story has had on your life.” Done poorly it sounds like this, “Stop TALKING!”
Here is the truth about the skill of intrusion:
If the coach is to successfully move the conversation to an action plan, the art of intrusion is not just helpful, it is often necessary. So, my challenge to all coaches who encounter gifted storytellers is step up your game, take a risk. Forget what your momma taught you early on, override your nice gene, and appropriately push into monologues for the sake of helping the coachee move toward the goal of deeper learning or forwarding action in their life.
Caution: Using the skill of intrusion with a significant other may result in serious harm! Use at your own risk.
A forgotten underpaid laborer emerged sooty from an awkward shaft in the ground holding in his hand a small piece of carbon that had been concealed in the mantel of the earth for half the age of this planet. A billion years of penetrating heat and pressure had turned this igneous chunk into a tiny rock that was clear like glass.
In an array of angles and planes, it was hand-cut by an artisan into a gem weighing almost a full carat, mounted on a gold band and given to a young Mary Frances Reed in 1897 as an outward intention to wed. It passed through generations until recently, at sunset on a west coast beach, my son, Taylor, adroitly slipped it onto the elegant finger of Ashley Teter, the woman he will marry.
Call me crazy –but when held at the perfect angle in just the right light, through the slivers of color you can clearly see the vibrant lives of all five generations of ancestors. And I am left thinking about the ongoing importance of the refraction of family light.
Have you ever noticed that conversation held over embers predictably takes a deep dive? Like there is some primal connection between stirring cinders, dodging smoke, and talk of God. Or maybe the combination is flame, aged Scotch, and deep theology.
Last October we relocated our fire pit. No longer sequestered in the well fenced backyard, there it evocatively now sits surrounded by a circle of chairs in the driveway where I used to park my car.
Like moths drawn to the light they come: not just invited guests, but dog walkers, joggers, neighbors we haven’t seen in a while and some we haven’t met. Passing by, they stop to pull up a chair. They chat for a bit, or stay late.
That fire pit brazenly extends the warm invitation of community to an increasingly secluded world.
Some nights by the fire I feel a bit like Rev. Casey in Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath, who used to be a preacher but got “all full up of Jesus” and found himself spending more time just listening to people and finding God there.
I relish being the fire host, which is mostly loading logs and listening. And the more I do, the stronger I feel the alluring summons to a deeper migration; the relocation of that in me which burns fervently in seclusion to the front yard of me.
I bid you also to consider the repositioning of your fire pit?
This afternoon I’m feeling like the Queen of the World, all because I offered some music to folks at a ‘soup kitchen’.
I’ve been providing music at Daisy’s Food Pantry on Tuesdays at The Church of the Village. I sing a song, lead a sing-along, celebrate birthdays and then spin upbeat music while people wait for their number to be called. It has been a transformative experience for all of us, turning the crabbiness and conflicts that sometimes plagued that event into a joyous party where we have a good time. People nod and smile and dance and thank me. I feel like a million bucks when I’m done.
Today, I invited two of my band members to join me to entertain folks at the Community Meal that is served on Saturdays. I wasn’t sure what might happen. We played music for an hour and a half for a couple hundred people as they enjoyed a meal prepared and served by dedicated volunteers.
Being an artist anywhere, but especially in New York, can be hard. It is difficult to get gigs, and then people don’t pay you much, or anything, and require you to bring in a bunch of people to their club. It is disheartening and can sometimes make me feel unappreciated.
Today felt different. I didn’t get paid in dollars today, but boy was I paid! I cannot tell you how many people expressed their joy that we played some songs while they ate a meal. They smiled, and sang; danced and came up and thanked us. I felt such encouragement and happiness about this meager offering of talents. And, hey! It was my biggest audience EVER in New York!
This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this kind of support. In the time we served at The Church for All People, I felt more encouragement than ever before in my life. Folks who were down on their luck genuinely appreciated what I did there and let me know it every chance they could. And I wasn’t the only one. I listened to the poorest people in our community regularly boost the spirits of volunteers and staff whenever they could.
People who have the least seem to be the most likely to share what they CAN give: appreciation and support. They don’t care about little mistakes, they don’t care if I’m not the greatest singer in the world. They deeply appreciate anyone who willingly shares their gifts.
It occurred to me today that it is challenging to build an audience in New York, but I DO have an enthusiastic following of the destitute and homeless! Aren’t I lucky!?
Author’s Note: This is one of several reflections about what I learned working and worshiping with people who are poor economically, during my years as Minister of Music at The United Methodist Church for All People (C4AP) in Columbus, Ohio, and now doing a music ministry at The Church of the Village. Names are changed to protect privacy.
Editor’s note: This piece was previously featured on Eileen Howard’s own blog site http://eileenhoward.blogspot.com/ and reprinted with her permission. It is the third in a series on the topic.
Guest Blog by Rev. Dr. William A. Holmes (my dad) —
I thought I knew what the word “community” meant until I was in one.
Six months ago, my wife, Nancy, and I moved to Homewood, a retirement facility in Frederick, Maryland, founded and supported by the United Church of Christ – a home which provides life-time care for approximately 400 residents. A recent article in the November 26 issue of the Christian Century, entitled “Bonds of Affection,” gave a new perspective to what we’ve been experiencing since arriving.
The article, by Scott Bader-Saye, refers frequently to C. S. Lewis’ thoughtful study, The Four Loves, where Lewis parses varieties of love by exploring four Greek terms: eros, philia, agape, and storge. Most of us are familiar with the first three expressions depicting love as desire, friendship and gift. But what of storge? I learned it is the Greek equivalent of “affection,” and although not as robust or as intense as the other three expressions, it is storge, or “affection,” which the author finds especially suited to community.
For instance, affection can grow readily in short conversations and shared routines. Of all the loves, it is the most linked to place – arising among those who find themselves sharing a common life not because they have chosen one another but because they find themselves thrown together. Lewis observes that affection is “the least discriminating of loves….Almost anyone can become an object of Affection….There need be no apparent fitness between those whom it unites.”
Furthermore, affection makes possible the largest number of interactions with the most people. As Aristotle observed, it is hard to have too many true friends. It’s just not likely we will find a large number of people with whom we share a great deal, even if we had the time to develop myriads of such friendships. It is affection which makes possible a wide swath of contacts with people whom we can know on a less personal, less intimate basis – persons who can still be the occasion of our appreciation.
One of the less obvious gifts of affection is its tolerance for people who rub us the wrong way. Whether we are attracted to a person or offended by them is really beside the point if, over time, circumstances require our interaction. The author of the article writes: “Gathering becomes the critical practice through which one learns to love those we thought we couldn’t love, those who are not like us, those who will never be more than acquaintances.”
Where do I find such community at Homewood? I was in it the day I arrived, and I’ve been a contributor to it ever since. Community happens every time we go to the Dining Room and visit with whomever may join us at our table. It’s in the Exercise Room where people are working out on a variety of machines, and where my wife and I attend several exercise classes. It’s on the Homewood bus we take to attend plays in Baltimore. It’s in the scores of volunteer opportunities which surround us, from pushing wheelchairs to assisting in the feeding of persons with dementia. Some of us are healthy and mobile, some of us use canes, walkers, rollaters or wheelchairs, and some of us are bedridden. Whether we play golf, bridge or dominos; find ourselves with or without a spouse; hear readily the sounds around us or are “deaf as a post” – this is where life is for all who occupy this space.
The cultivation of our affection for one another only requires a serious commitment to presence. Toward the end of the article, the author observes: “Physical presence, bodily quirks, and simply brushing up against one another all contribute to affection. Affection grows from the soil of time and space, from commitment to place and community. Gathering becomes the critical practice through which one learns to love those we thought we couldn’t love, those who are not like us, those who will never be more than acquaintances.”
To the above description of “community,” I would further add the imperative of a “social conscience.” I’m referring to an informed commitment to the “common good” and a sense of responsibility for the relief of human suffering and deprivation wherever they occur. I’m not proposing that we become advocates of a Utopian world, or that we feel obligated to address and solve all the problems of humankind. But our affection for each other as residents of Homewood, pleasant as it may be, isn’t the same as a caring advocacy for those in need outside our “circle.” We are not a “gated community.”
On the whole, we who are Homewood residents are a privileged people. Our retirement incomes are above average, and we pay for services and amenities many people cannot afford. What keeps us from becoming a parochial enclave is that, in addition to providing for fellow residents who have outlived their funds, most of us are involved in a variety of services addressing the needs of persons in the larger Frederick area, the nation and the world.
“Community,” in the deepest sense, is an affection which not only includes learning to care for persons with whom we share a local space, but also caring for persons with whom we share a common humanity. From the moment we are born, we are inextricably connected to those persons – here and everywhere.
May Homewood always be this kind of community.