Throughout my life, a bevy of Bible stories have greatly shaped my thinking. Mine is a story-driven faith.
One of those stories is the one in which Jesus and his disciples find themselves in the grip of a raging Galilean storm.
Only once have I been to Galilee, and on that occasion I witnessed the suddenness and the ferocity of the storms in that area. I watched the clouds gather and explode over the bowl-shaped lake. I recalled the many times my Sunday school teachers had spoken of storms over that sea and, with the help of paper figures stuck to a flannel graph board, described the fear of the disciples and the calmness of Jesus.
Years later I would compare that story to John Wesley's experience aboard a ship in the North Atlanta when he observed a group of Moravian missionaries worship on the deck of a similarly storm-tossed boat.
In the days of Sunday school, we children would often dramatize the storm story. Because I was the preacher's kid, I was always cast as the sleeping Jesus in the back of the chair/boat. While the "disciples" lost their calm in the face of the rising waves, it was my responsibility to dramatically rise and shout out, "Peace! Be still."
Years later I came to see another aspect to the storm story that I do not recall the teacher ever highlighted. It was the moment after the storm had ended, the moment where I now imagine Jesus whirling around to the terrified disciples—with the air of a disappointed teacher—saying, "Where in the world is your faith?"
In this context, the question really meant, "What have you learned about yourselves in the last few minutes? Has anything I've taught you taken root in your hearts?" There must have followed an intensive seminar on the inevitability of stormy, even life-threatening, moments in life and the appropriate conduct of leaders on such occasions.
I can almost hear Jesus saying, "You think this was a storm? You have no idea what the future is going to bring. If this is the best you can do …"
The Life Laboratory
The Galilean storm seems a testing laboratory, which the Lord used to prepare the disciples for soul-bending moments that lay ahead. You could say that it was in such moments the progress of conversion was examined.
You couldn't have created such a stormy condition in a classroom—or even in a church sanctuary. Experiences of this kind are not about right words but about right attitude and behavior. These qualities show themselves best in hurricane conditions.
Among my earliest stormy moments was the time when I, a young pastor (age 26), for no discernable reason (except, maybe, the prodding of the Holy Spirit) decided to visit a ranch owned by two of the members of our church. At the time I was preacher and spiritual leader (or thought I was) to a tiny western, very rural, community of 50 people.
As I drove into the barnyard area, I was confronted by a sight that remains fresh in my mind 45 years later: The husband was carrying his wife, obviously dead, the victim of a horse-spooking event out on the prairie.
Talk about a storm! What was I to say to this man who was in shock? What was the next thing to be done? How could I provide leadership (practical, emotional, spiritual) to this suddenly-motherless family that included small children? How would I guide the congregation that would have to come together and offer support?
No seminary class, no book, was able to offer much help in that moment. It was all something to be learned in a "boat."
I would estimate that the life of any leader is 95 percent navigation in relative calm waters (the routines of daily life) and 5 percent sheer terror as we face the unexpected and the uncontrolled. Yet in that 5 percent, much is revealed about the kind of people we have become and are becoming and the integrity of what we say we believe.
In stormy moments, three aspects of one's inner being are likely to be tested: memory, imagination, and will. The first is about the past, the second about the future, the third about the present.
In saying this, I am not trying to write as a psychologist or even as a certified expert in spiritual formation. I'm simply observing out of personal experience and what I often see in the lives of leaders.
Your Inexact Memory
I have often thought of my memory as a library. Here, deep within myself, is a store of experiences and impressions to be drawn on to measure present experiences. This knowledge base is not always accurate. Over time, the stories stored in one's memory can be revised, morphed to become more terrible or more impressive.
I have found, for example, that the older I get, the faster my times become in the races I ran as a young athlete. The crowds I once preached to get larger, the books I once wrote now turned out to have sold more copies, and the mountains I (may have) climbed get higher.
My inner "library" is not passive. It is not like a shelf of books that wait to be discovered and consulted. Bits and pieces of my memory are wildly active, often seeming to leap off my inner shelves and insert themselves into present thoughts whether I welcome them or not.
"I think of my memory as a library … A store of experiences and impressions to be drawn on to measure the present."
For example, the impression of that rancher carrying his dead wife is so seared into my memory that—over the years—whenever I have gone anyplace to visit a person in one of my congregations, I have a moment of dread just before a door was opened or a meeting begun. I kept thinking: will I be confronted by some horrific surprise on the other side of that door?
On the other hand, my memory has served me well as a wellspring of experiences. As I have compiled a personal biography of successful, and not so successful events, I have created a record of experiences and what they meant (some might call this wisdom) that guide me well into the present. The older I have become, the percentage of stupid mistakes has dropped. I am less liable to say or do the wrong thing. I am more likely to offer insights that are not formed in the moment but are the result of dozens of similar experiences in the past, where I learned what was appropriate and what was helpful. There are simply some things that cannot be rushed into the brain no matter how smart or gifted we are. Some things take time.
On other occasions I have written about the discipline of journaling, which I have maintained for almost 45 years. The act of journaling is really the strengthening of memory, not unlike one who builds his or her body through conditioning. Without the journal there is an enormous amount of life experience that I would have forgotten by now. With journaling there is a written record of events, my reflections on those events, and, not infrequently, a word or two about what I should or should not have done.
Imagine a journal entry by Simon Peter as he brooded on the stormy Galilean moment.
"Sailed to Gadera today. Light chop, wind from the south. Teacher exhausted, tried to sleep. Storm halfway across. The worst most of us had ever seen. Everyone threw up. Emptied the boat of all duffle. Teacher kept sleeping (which irritated everybody). Finally, we awakened him. Figured he could help. But he simply shouted at the weather, and suddenly it calmed. How did he do this? He was angry at our panic. He told us to remember this moment well. There would be other storms of varying kinds. We're all wondering what in the world that means."
In recent days I have been going through old files that record church leadership meetings (elders, deacons) I attended as far back as the early 1970s. Several things impress me as I scan these documents that I've not seen for 40 years.
First, how many things, which seemed important at the time, ended up being entirely without significance. Second, how often we dealt with issues that were merely hints of things to come. Most importantly, I was struck by how hard we all worked to maintain an accurate record of our deliberations. Why? Because we understood the importance of corporate memory.
But it would not occur to many in leadership that the "minutes" of one's life are, perhaps, even more important. An accurate rendition of what we believe God has spoken into our lives, what we have learned in each experience, and what could use improvement the next time. Oh, and that for which we must be thankful.
I have a book in my library written by a successful megachurch pastor 30 years ago. His much-admired ministry crashed dramatically because of malfeasance. He owned up to his failures and wrote of his own predilection for "nice things."
In the book he wrote of a moment when he was a boy being raised in makeshift surroundings. One day he was walking a girl home from school. Another boy came along on a shiny new bicycle, and the girl hopped on the back fender of the bike and rode away, leaving him standing alone.
He never forgot that moment of hurt and humiliation. He swore to himself that he would one day be the boy on the shiny bicycle instead of the one left behind. That bit of memory played a part in many later-in-life choices, some of which got him into trouble.
It was in the area of memory where Joseph of Egypt fought some of his greatest battles when his brothers—the ones who had abandoned him—came to town seeking food. It was out of memory that David was able to generate the faith that gave him power over Goliath. Paul was dealing with memory when he recalled his earlier years as a persecutor of Christians.
We make memory serve us when we are careful to repent of all forms of sin, forgive when we have been sinned against, give thanks when we have been blessed, and reflect upon the meaning of events and what God might have for us to learn.
Your Imagination For Tomorrow
God has not only given us a memory of the past, but he has provided us with an imagination—the ability to create scenarios of the future and test their viability. The mind is not only a library; it is also a stage. And on that stage we are able to place ourselves and others and act out choices and possibilities. We can make informed guesses as to outcomes.
Like the library, the imagination can be inaccurate, quite unreliable. This is a good reason why we pray that God's Spirit will superintend our imaginations and help us to imagine with greater clarity and purpose.
The imagination, of course, can easily get out of control. It can conjure things that are dangerous, destructive. It can take us into areas of thought that are devastating to our soul. Knowing this, many people decry the imagination and see it as a troublemaker in one's thought life. Fantasies of relationships, of achievements, of acquisition can be spiritually poisonous.
But there is a powerful side to the imagination. You can see it work in the dreams of Joseph, the young brother who-rather unwisely, I've always thought—told his brothers of his imagination that one day his brothers would bow to him. The good news: he had the instincts of leadership brewing in his heart. The bad news: he should have kept it to himself.
Being an artistic and rather introverted person, my imagination has been an enormous inner stage. Were it not for key people in my life who regularly jerked me back into reality, I would have found it easy to remain on the stage of my inner self rather than living life out in the reality of the world. My inner stage was more fun, more malleable, more under my control (at least sometimes).
On the other hand, it was on the stage that I conceived my desire to write. It was there that I gained a vision of myself as a preacher. On that stage I replayed a million times my worst mistakes and why they were made. In the course of time, there were many mistakes I avoided because I tended the options on the stage before acting them out in reality.
Your will for the Present
The third-the middle area between past and future—could be called the will, or the place of resolve. It lies between the memory of the past and the imagination of the future. It's the control room (forgive the rather mechanical analogy) of one's life, the place where one engages in choice.
This will is a remarkable thing. It seems able to weigh options, even for a part of it to act contrary to another part.
"What shall I order for dinner?" I ask myself in a restaurant. These conditions are prevailing: I'm hungry. The restaurant serves excellent food. Another person at the table has already made it clear that I am their guest and will not be paying the bill. And, finally, my wife is not present to serve as a living reminder of good eating habits.
In the control room, the various "Gordons" bid for control of the choice. Gordon One lobbies for a large sirloin steak. The ever-cautious Gordon Two argues that red meat is not that healthy for a man my age. The penny-wise Gordon Three is setting forth the premise that, just because it's not my money, does not mean that I have the right to take financial advantage of the person who will pay the bill. And, finally, the compassionate Gordon Four is reminding me of those in the world who do not eat well, and, just because the food is available to me, does not give me the right to indulge myself in all of it.
From these "Gordons" must come a winner, the one who will determine the choice of the moment.
If the memory of past experiences of overeating (or eating too richly) is not strong, and if the imagination that often deals in perceived consequences is not in appropriate action, it is altogether likely that the will (the decider) will choose badly. All three parts of me must work in tandem to produce a responsible conclusion.
I see this sort of dynamic in the life of our Lord when he approaches his disciples in the Upper Room. Parse the comments of John as he describes to us the inner thoughts of Jesus:
"Jesus (knew) that he had come from God." That's memory.
"Jesus (knew) that he was returning to God." That's imagination.
"Jesus (knew) that the Father had put all things under his power." That's present thought.
"(Jesus) got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples' feet." That's what he chose to do.
Isn't it incredible that the rabbi would do that for his disciples? How could one so fully humble himself in a culture where footwashing took on far greater implications than we can ever imagine?
But he did it out of a fully functioning inner life where memory, imagination, and will were in perfect alignment.
Gordon MacDonald is editor at large of Leadership Journal.
Copyright © 2011 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal.Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
