15
Silence Can Be the Best Answer
“Call me as soon as you possibly can. I need to talk with you.”
I am in the receiving line following the 11 o'clock service at our church.
That's when Tom Sewell, our minister, grabs my arm and whispers he is
desperate to see me. I am
Chairman of the Church Board, and Tom and I are
very close.
I call him very first thing Monday morning. I don't know what to think.
The truth is, I am thinking the worst.
The following day, I'm sitting in Tom's book-lined office. I can see he's
going through a high level of torment. I've never seen him quite like this.
“I've been offered a new position,” Tom tells me. “You
remember I
missed services four Sundays ago. Well, I was guest preacher at a New
York church. They were looking me over. It's the largest and most visible
and prestigious in our denomination. They've called me to be their Senior
Minister. That would be the most important pulpit in our entire church.”
“I'm proud of you,” I tell him, “but not surprised. Our church has tripled
in size during your time with us and the congregation loves you. Best of all,
you live the values you preach. What have you decided?”
“That's the problem,” he says. “I can't decide. Nancy isn't in favor of the
move. But she'll go with me whatever I decide. I know the kids won't like it
at all. They have close friends and they're at an age when they'll really resist
moving.
“Tell me, what do you think I should I do?”
I pause and reflect momentarily about Tom's dilemma. Sometimes, when
a choice is intensely personal, when the alternatives pull at your gut, it's
best to simply dig deep enough to uncover what the person really wants to
do.
I decide to use the plus-minus exercise. You know,
a line down the middle
of the sheet—the advantages on one side of the page, the disadvantages on
the other.
I start asking questions. There are plenty of advantages. The salary, the
manse, a congregation four times our size, a full-time business manager,
and a ministerial staff of seven.
On the other side of the ledger, the entries are even longer. To begin with,
Nancy's feelings about staying. The two oldest children are in high school
—Ted plays varsity basketball and Fran is class president. It turns out, also,
that Tom doesn't particularly like New York.
The list goes on. He would be spending all his time preaching. He'd lose
all of the personal contacts and relationships with his members.
If he moves, he would
be the face of the church, but not its soul and spirit.
On top of all that, our church is just launching a capital campaign. Tom
worries about leaving at this critical time. The list of concerns is very long.
I listen to him for several hours.
At last there is a long silence. A total silence. A Benedictine silence.
Finally, I quietly ask, “So Tom, on the basis of all you've said, what do you
feel is the right decision for you?”
Tom jumps from his chair and gives me a big bear hug. “You gave me the
answer. It's so clear. I'm staying.”
Actually, I hadn't given him an answer at all. He found his own solution.
Somewhere in the background, I hear the theme from
Rocky.
That was three years ago. Tom never looked back and I've never known a
happier person. The congregation continues to grow, the sermons are more
inspiring and motivating than ever, and he is going to officiate at marriages
of some of the kids who have gone through his Sunday school. He's one
happy, fulfilled guy.
There are times when you don't have to give advice. In fact, in some
situations you mustn't. If you allow the
person to answer their own
question, there can be the clarity of light that author Virginia Woolf saw “as
moments of being and illumination, those privileged times when truth is
perceived in a flash of intuition.”
When the choice is deeply personal, ask:
“What do you feel is the
Dostları ilə paylaş: