Are you about to hire someone? Perhaps you’ve met a new friend? Want to know about them? Go out to dinner or a good lunch. Watch how they treat the hostess. How do they interact with the server? How do they treat the other restaurant staff?
How one treats servers in these unguarded moments reveals character.
By the way, how do you (I) treat servers?
Maybe it’s time for an attitude change.
Somedays it seems that everyone is a complainer. Others are always wrong. They inconvenience me. “What?! It’s not all about me?”
I thought about a useless complaint on a Facebook group. I thought about the complainer. She has a Facebook badge for contributions to the group chat. The posts are always complaints.
I reread some of my daily meditations. The words seemed bold and 36 point. Practice compassion.
Perhaps people just complain as cry to be noticed? Perhaps replying with compassion will eventually soothe the troubled soul? And my own.
I may have mentioned before that I’ve been receiving the Pump newsletter from Arnold Schwarzenegger. He sucked me in with the phrase “a positive corner of the Internet.” Don’t know about you, but I could use more positivity.
People who study these things have told us that anger often comes from insecurities and fear. Hate, also, has deep roots within our own emotional construction. Here is a story from Arnold from a recent event.
Last week, I had an event at the Schwarzenegger Institute at USC on fighting the rising hate we’ve seen all over the world. We had a panel about how to communicate to pull people away from a path of hate, and a former neo-Nazi who now helps other extremists out of their movements shared his perspective. Something he shared stuck with me, and I wanted to share it with all of you. Because it is wisdom that can help anyone — not just people who are consumed by hate. He said that the further he got away from his old beliefs, the more he realized that in the days when he carried that hateful flag and shouted racist and anti-Semitic rhetoric, the person he really hated was himself. He believes he was projecting that hate onto other groups because it was a lot harder to turn inward and work on his own insecurities.
Many of us meditate hoping for experiences and visions of the divine. The meditative experience that most influenced me was when I was shown every form of evil and sin revealing that these are all buried within me. The realization that I was capable of all sin (see the first chapters of Paul’s Letter to the Romans for example) provided insights and tools for dealing with that. And the empathy for others who also struggle with that same whether they know it or not. It, by the way, is a life-long struggle. Just like the realization of this man quoted above.
Quite by accident the second edition of “Humble Inquiry: The Gentle Art of Asking Instead of Telling,” by Edgar H. Schein and Peter A. Schein appeared in my mail the other day. Reviewing some older notes, I saw the recommendation. When this book arrived, I discovered I had the first edition on my bookshelf. The second edition was worth the refresher.
Do you know any long-time elementary school teachers? Ever listen to them? Do their questions sound often like a prosecuting attorney going after a criminal suspect?
Do we catch ourselves asking questions to test other people? Or questions where we wish to discover if they are for us or against us? Questions meant to trap us—like often were posed to Jesus?
The gentle art of asking questions instead of telling people reveals true curiosity. We want to know what someone else is thinking—really.
The gentle art draws people in rather than establishing a barrier between people. Its foundation includes trust, sincerity, mindfulness. I would add intention.
So often we ask, but then we fail to listen to the answer. Listening, that is, that involves our complete attention.
I wrote about this book five years ago. It’s one of those books that requires a reread periodically. It’s brief. Readable. New insights will pop out each reading.
People at work or at church or wherever gathered in clusters to listen to someone complain about something—leadership, finances, systems. The complaining fed on itself and the impromptu gathering could destroy attitudes for hours.
Social media has amplified the circle you can reach with your complaints, criticisms, unfounded and not-thought-out opinions. You have no responsibility to fix anything. No responsibility for the effect your words have on others.
Beware those who constantly criticize. Don’t join their little clusters at work or wherever you are. Mute them on social media so that you don’t see their rants.
Associate with those people who lift you up. Or associate with those whom you can serve.
Clear your mind. Take the road of positivity. Take the road of service. Most of all take responsibility. Life is much better that way.
“We are human.”
The podcast conversation on Guy Kawasaki’s Remarkable People with David Ambroz evoked horror, sadness, hope, even joy.
Ambroz released a book A Place Called Home: A Memoir. This Amazon executive with a degree from Vassar and a law degree from UCLA tells a moving story of growing up homeless with two siblings and a mentally ill mother. Foster care only led to abuse. But his mother managed to instill a few values and some good fortune and hard work propelled him out of the cycle into a successful life.
“How should we look at homeless people?,” Kawasaki asked. “They are human,” Ambroz replied.
I have thought of a similar response every time I hear statements denigrating women, gay people, people of different ethnicities or colors. We are human. All of us.
Think of the way Jesus related to Romans, Syrians, Samaritans, women, political extremists, people with extreme skin illnesses. He touched lepers. He healed Romans and Syrians. He talked frankly with a Samaritan woman.
Can we do any less?
We are human. Compassion–what a wonderful thing.
A scientist begins with “I don’t know.” Curiosity ensues. Questions. A need to know and discover.
What about studying theology—or trying to discover God?
I approached all of university, as well as all my studies since, as an answer to “I don’t know, but I am curious to learn.”
I wonder how many people approach the study of theology begin with I don’t know and seek to discover or how many begin with a priori “knowledge” and seek only to prove what they already believe to be true?
Not everyone is like me most likely. Missing out on the joy of discovery. The joy of finding God in unexpected places. And the joy of changing my mind if God shows me a better explanation or path.
University and business writing taught me to express myself with certainty. Some people have said to me that I sound like I know the material. In reality, I’m throwing out ideas. If someone throws back another idea, I’ll consider it. Maybe I’ll learn something new and wonderful.
Sometimes it’s like that man who exclaimed to Jesus, “I believe. Help me in my unbelief!”
We could do with a little less certainty in our societies and a little more joy of discovering something we didn’t know.
Have you ever been in the shower and suddenly wonder whether you’ve done the shampoo part or not?
Has it happened more than once?
With me, it happens often. My mind is far away from what I’m doing.
I guess I’ve always been that way. We were married in June and were temporarily living in my small home village. I was a total social nerd. One of my exceptionally nice aunts pulled my wife aside for tea or something females do. I guess my aunt told my unsuspecting bride that I wasn’t always aware of people around. “I believe he’s always thinking about something.” She was perceptive. Even as a teen, my mind was lost in the world of ideas.
How many times have we been around others and unaware of the signals they are sending? How many thoughtless things have we said without thinking? Our mind was in ourselves not them?
This morning, these thoughts came to me as I brewed coffee. But I was aware also of the coffee in the early morning. And now my chair and the laptop perched on my thighs and the early spring scene outside my window with the robins hunting and the mourning doves calling. It’s been a long process to live mindfully, to concentrate on the minute and the experience at hand, to act intentionally. In a paradox, it slows me in order to speed me.
Three days ago Western Christians celebrated Easter—Resurrection Day. I thought about living in a post-resurrection world. Luke documents the changes in Jesus’ followers when the implications of the resurrection sank in.
Sitting in contemplation this morning I saw a bird flying across the yard toward a large tree. A finch, I thought, I can tell by the way it flies. Hmm, I can distinguish among many species by their unique behaviors.
Those early Christians, those who lived in the first century, could be distinguished by their behaviors.
Today, I wondered, can we distinguish Christians by their behaviors?
What would be the distinguishing characteristic?
Would it be the peace, joy, and love of the first century Christian? The Acts 2 Christian?
Would it be a loud-mouthed US Congressperson or other politician US or elsewhere?
Perhaps the pastor and his congregation outside with a loudspeaker shouting epithets at people they don’t agree with or people who look different from them?
Or, perhaps the person who does not make news headlines quietly serving others and passing the peace and joy and love along?
Looking in a mirror, what behavior of mine do I see? What about you?
Promotions for a new movie called Praise This recently popped up on my TV screen. The plot centers on the dramas around a competition for best church praise choirs. At first I thought this was a reality TV show they were promoting. I thought, this performance-based religious experience has gone too far.
A few church leaders in the US (and elsewhere) surveyed the state of church attendance wondering how to attract young Baby Boomers into church. They observed the success of Jesus Music. Music companies also observed that—and changed the music’s tone and promoted new artists. Seeking to “build a church that unchurched people would attend”, these leaders teamed with the new music to build the “Rock Concert with a TED Talk” style of worship.
The megachurch was born.
I witnessed a few early ones. Seemed OK. But, like the premise of this move more often than not praise music became a performance.
And church leaders scrambled to get numbers. 5,000 was not enough. 10,000. 20,000. Numbers meant everything.
Realizing that something more than Sunday performances was needed, they pushed small groups. These small groups mostly failed to catch on.
Jimmy Buffet playing to his loyal following of “Parrot Heads” does a better job of involving his crowds than most praise bands.
Maybe the Boomers wanted to be entertained. I don’t know. I’m sort of a Boomer, and it doesn’t fit my profile. Later generations prefer connection. Maybe we all do. And maybe it’s not all about numbers. Maybe growth is a two-edged sword.
How did the early church grow?
Like the famous restaurant scene in Harry Met Sally, “I want what she’s having,” people were attracted to the early church because of the way they lived and the type of people they were. No gimmicks. Spirit and service. As John Fischer says, Grace Turned Outward.
So many have missed the point.
Gary Mintchell
Faith Venture 