Earlier this week, my husband and I decided to finally tackle the black
hole of junk that is technically our craft room. Most homes have one of these
(churches often do as well): the place where stuff you think you’ll use/need at some point goes for an eternal
retirement.
As happens, then, the craft supplies we might be able to use had been
subsumed in stuff.
We’ve cleaned the room before…and were getting along fine with it—it was
still searchable. Until we took in boxes…of stuff…when
my father and brother died. First there were books. So. Many. Books. Then an
assortment of other stuff, including
all the papers and mail we’d hastily cleared out of my brother Dan’s house
after his suicide. We needed to get it out of there, but also knew we’d need to
sort through it all.
There were two remaining boxes of Dan’s papers in the craft room. So as
I finished sorting all the other stuff,
my husband Chris dove into the papers. The papers included junk mail, bills,
sermon notes, prayer request notes, etc. Dan didn’t have any of this organized.
Then again, we basically threw papers into boxes so maybe at one point some of
it was organized.
If you’ve followed my blog at all, you’ve heard me talk about Dan
before. In fact, truth be told, since his suicide Dan is one of the topics that
most often comes up in some way on this blog. So you may have heard me talk
about the great complexity of the issues Dan was facing. In no way do I think
one thing, let alone one person led to his decision.
But in his papers in those boxes, we found a letter.
It’s a letter most pastors will be familiar with. Most of us have
received something like it, sometimes more than once (or a few times).
You know the drill…”Dear pastor, I don’t like you. It’s not just your
way of doing things I don’t like, mostly I don’t like you. I can’t worship at
my church anymore. Until you leave. Shame on you.”
So those weren’t the actual words, but you get the point. Sadly, the
words were pretty close to those.
Not a mere statement of facts, but a personal attack.
My favorite part (and this is an actual quote): “I am not a mean
person, but…”
Hint to letter writers (or you know, people in general): If you have to
preface something you’re about to say with “I’m not a mean person, but…” then
yes, you are likely a mean person. Offering constructive criticism is not mean.
Saying it in a mean way or personally attacking someone…is mean.
Other similarly ridiculous comments (which you should never ever say or
if you are tempted to say, stop before you say whatever is about to follow):
I’m not a judgmental person, but…
I’m a very funny person…
Not to toot my own horn but…
Really, anything follow by "but..."
Now, I am a fan of constructive criticism.
Okay, “fan” might be an exaggeration.
I know the value of constructive criticism. I’ve learned a lot from it,
and maybe sometimes I’ve offered it to others.
But you know what constructive criticism isn’t?
Belittling.
Mean.
Something you wouldn’t say to someone’s face.
If you wouldn’t be willing to say it to a person’s face, you don’t have
the right to passive aggressively write it to them in a letter. If you think
your tone would offend them in person, then let me tell you, it certainly will
in a letter.
Some of my greatest lessons about accepting criticism came from my
father.
In college, I applied to be a resident advisor. You know, one of those
conscientious students who help oversee the dorms.
I was an oldest child par excellence. I had this overseeing thing in the bag.
I was MADE to be an RA.
Except I wasn’t hired.
After individual and group interviews, I was told I was an alternate.
That meant I had to go through ALL the training, with just the possibility of
being hired.
I was devastated.
I remember talking with Dad on the phone. He did the loving father
thing and pointed out that they’d at least selected me as an alternate. Then he
asked the question I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask: “Well, why didn’t they offer
you a position?” I explained I didn’t know. The letter didn’t say. He suggested
I ask. He said I should ask and just hear what they had to say. Not be
defensive, but just listen. So I did. I made an appointment with the Director
of Residence Life and I asked him. And bless him, he told me. Directly. He
explained various areas where they thought I needed to grow, including that I
dominated the group session. I listened, thanked him, then left and called Dad.
I was upset.
What does he mean I dominated? Aren’t they looking for leaders?
Dad asked me why I thought that may have been a problem. He also asked
me how I could use those same skills as strengths. Dad helped me understand
that we are who we are, but all of our strengths can be weaknesses if
unchecked. Also, some people just won’t click with us. And that’s ok too. But
that I needed to decide if I thought I could grow here.
So I stayed in training. And when a position opened before the fall
semester started, I was given the position.
A few years later, as a supervising RA my senior year, I sat in an info
session for students considering applying to be an RA. The Director of Res Life
was there, as were a few of the students I’d come to know well as we’d worked
together in Res Life. A prospective RA asked about the process, and followed up
asking about alternates.
It was then that I learned why I’d been hired. The story I’d never
heard before.
The Director of Res Life explained that I had some areas I’d needed to
work on when I was interviewed. But I did something very important: I came and
asked for feedback. And he and other supervisors saw that I worked on those issues
during training. They knew I had and was willing to take constructive
criticism.
I will tell you that I am a better person today for that experience
than I would have been, I am sure, had I been hired right away. Of that I am positive.
Constructive criticism can be life changing.
Mean and belittling comments can also be life changing.
That’s why I throw away negative notes and letters.
The first thing, honestly, is that once I (or I suspect, anyone)
receive a negative letter, I don’t need to look at it ever again to remember
what it says. You can get ten positive notes, but the negative one will be the
one that sticks with you.
I don’t mean constructive criticism, I mean mean letters. Letters that don’t build up, but which tear down.
Letters which make personal attacks out of issues that could be directly and
far less emotionally addressed.
Now, some letters you need to keep. I serve as a chair of a District
Committee on Ministry, and I save everything. There might be other types of
stuff you have to keep no matter what. But do just that. Keep it. Somewhere you
aren’t tempted to open. And don’t ever
look at it again. Ever. No really, I’m serious.
Sometimes you need to share a copy with a supervisor. Yes, do that.
Note to clergy: if you can get a heads up to your DS, do that. I once got to
beat a parishioner to a DS with the negative letter she’d written to the DS but
gave me a copy of first. So get it to your supervisor, and quickly.
Now, sometimes people write letters because they’d tried to talk to you
and feel you haven’t responded. Sometimes they’re right, sometimes you’re
right, sometimes you’re both wrong. But letters should never contain personal attacks.
I learned this from being an RA, as it happens. When you write an
incident report, you simply state the facts. You leave emotions out of it.
There were many times I accompanied an incident report to my supervisor with a
verbal footnote about it, but the case was to be handled by the facts at hand.
The second reason I don’t keep negative emails is that a letter just
captures one point in a relationship. I can’t tell you how many times I have
had a falling out with someone but later resolved it (or vice versa). There are
times when, had I written a letter capturing my emotions, I would regret it two
years later. And I wouldn’t want that person to still have the letter. I have
written letters and emails like that. I regret all of them.
Actually, sometimes I do save the ones I’ve written, as a reminder not
to do it ever again. I still need the reminders sometimes.
So folks…especially my clergy colleagues, and especially our newest
colleagues: seek constructive criticism. Learn how to offer it as well. But
please learn to discern between people who have a valid point and people who
are just being mean. Or who need to grow up before you take them too seriously.
You will need other people’s guidance and wisdom on this, because you will be
tempted to discount some people’s opinions because you simply disagree, or take
seriously someone’s comments because they know how to push your buttons too
well.
Lay people: please follow the golden rule when speaking with your
pastor. Treat them how you’d want to be treated. Better yet, treat your pastor
how you’d want your child (or niece, or nephew, etc.) to be treated if they
were a pastor. Seek to build up each other, not tear down. And recognize (as
pastors need to recognize as well) that you may have emotional investment in a
situation beyond whatever is happening between you and the pastor. And in that
case, maybe they’re not the appropriate punching bag for your angst.
Speak with each other in love. And please, for the sake of everyone, if
at all possible, do so face to face.
You know why? Because that’s what Jesus told us to do.
Matthew 18:15-20
Jesus is constantly calling us to healed, whole and restored
relationship. So why on earth would
we seek to change anything in a relationship without doing so in a way that
builds up relationships?
So let’s try to engage with each other authentically. Constructively.
And in love. You know, Jesus-style.
