Side note: I began this piece with a clear idea of its destination. Sometimes it seems that the words have different plans. I started fresh a couple of times, but the intended path never quite materialized. So I share this without knowing exactly what it’s trying to tell me. Perhaps you’ll find some clarity that eluded me. I hope it’s okay among friends to share the imperfections.

This morning I’m thinking about one of my three major 2011 goals. My description from a couple of months ago:

The keyword is readers: I want to focus on you during 2011. I want to attract more of you and find ways to make our connections more meaningful. This includes speaking opportunities, free ebooks, and perhaps some online workshops or other types of interactions.

I’m wondering about the “you” in that description. Is it singular or plural?

Jeff Lucas—in his British accent—says the southern U.S. has it figured out. They talk about “y’all” and “all y’all.” I wonder if I’m connecting to y’all or just all y’all.

WDJD (What Did Jesus Do?)

Jesus came to redeem the entire creation, to reconcile the world and humanity to God. It doesn’t get any bigger or broader or more plural than that.

But I believe He also came for me—individually, specifically, and specially. I believe He perceived me, my sin, and God’s love for me from the cross. That sounds absurdly selfish even as I write it, but it is what I believe.

Jesus considered you (plural) while never losing sight of you (individual). It’s ultimate multi-tasking—connecting with the world in eternity while living each moment fully in each individual heart.

Obviously I cannot match His ability to see everyone while seeing every one. But it’s clear that He values both singular and plural you. I feel like I’m not very good at that.

Success and struggle

Somehow it’s easier when I’m speaking. I remind myself that I’m not addressing a group. Even in a large crowd, I know I’m losing connection when I see an audience instead of faces.

And there’s always that time before and after the talk itself, the chance to shake a hand and answer questions and listen to a bit of someone else’s story. But it’s harder when I’m writing.

I can measure my connection to readers—all y’all. Subscriptions are up 21% since January 1 (thank you). Page views increased 26% (thank you, thank you). Something is happening in the big picture—that’s a good thing.

But what about y’all—the individual reader? You—the special person reading these words? Are you and I connecting is a meaningful manner that’s helpful?

Some folks complain that social media contributes to a growing sense of disconnection. Jon Swanson and Chris Brogan remind me that this blog and other social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter are just tools that connect or isolate. It’s not the tool—it’s how the tool is used.

So today I’m questioning whether I’m using these tools correctly. Am I enhancing a sense of community or hiding behind its illusion? Am I bringing us together as individuals? Because that’s what matters.

I’m just not sure. I suspect that means something needs to change, and I’m going to work at figuring that out. I don’t want to simply toss words at all y’all.

A couple of questions for you to consider:

Do you think your online presence brings you closer to individuals? How does that happen?

How can I do better at connecting with you?

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How can you guard your heart without living behind barriers?

Two of this week’s articles create a bit of tension.

I believe we’re called to engage with our community, so I don’t want to create a protective bubble in which I only interact with people and ideas that never challenge me. I don’t think it’s mentally healthy to hang out only with Birds Of My Particular Feather.

But I’m sensitive to the subtle manner in which our spiritual enemy uses apparently harmless cultural influences to fill my mind and heart with garbage. I understand the reality of GIGO.

How do I challenge my thinking and understand other viewpoints while holding to my essential core values? How can I avoid living in a protective bubble without polluting my heart?

Where’s the line?

It’s not an easy line to discover, and I’m sure I wander frequently in both directions. However, for the two cents it’s worth, here are some of my thoughts about my personal “birds of a feather” mentality.

I consciously seek out competing viewpoints. I follow blogs with which I often disagree. I try to understand different sides of important issues. I can think of nothing more dangerous than relying on a single source, or a collection of single-minded sources, for information and analysis.

Respectful listening doesn’t mean I agree, but I find value in trying to understand other perspectives. I believe Jesus calls me to build bridges rather than barriers.

I remind myself that, more than ever, media competes for my attention. The primary tactics are sensationalism, artificially-generated conflict, and controversy. Much of what I hear is calculated to provoke emotions.

It’s tempting to cheer those with whom I agree and boo the others. Since I’m a fan of something bigger and more eternal, I try to look past the hype.

I avoid those who rant and attack others personally. Whether I agree or not, I refuse to listen to the angry rhetoric. I will not attend to the talking heads who promote ideological extremes.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

I try to affirm the dignity and worth of those with whom I disagree. I sincerely believe that what unites us is more important than what divides us.

I try to discount labels. Conservative/liberal, Democrat/Republican, whatever—they’re words. Nobody’s evil or good based on the label. I try to understand what’s being said rather than accepting or rejecting based on some artificial category. I don’t believe God divides us based on such temporal criteria.

I try—and often fail—to assess based on my personal core values. I’m a follower of Jesus first. Politics, social mores, national allegiance—those are all a very distant second.

I cultivate close, transparent relationships with people who share those values. I share my heart as openly as I can with them and listen especially carefully to their counsel.

Those are some of my ways of resisting the temptation to flock only with birds who share my particular brand of feather. Your thoughts?

How do you keep this difficult balance?

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Do you tend to hang out with folks who think like you?

Last week I spoke to an Optimist Club. I shared A Reluctant Optimist’s Code and invited audience members to add to my list.

One guy said that optimistic people tend to associate with other optimists.

I suppose that’s true. In general, we’re all drawn to those who share our world view and core values. Birds of a feather probably do tend to flock together.

But I wonder—is that always a good thing? What do you think?

Isolated in a crowd

We’re immersed in a diverse, global culture with instant access to infinite information and opinion. It’s relatively easy to access an entire world of data, information, and analysis.

At the same time we’re buried in this virtual avalanche of input, it’s never been easier to avoid views that challenge our own.

Not so long ago one had to work hard to be isolated from different voices. Limited media options meant we all heard roughly the same content. Unless one refused to read a newspaper or listen to television or radio, most folks operated with relatively similar inputs. We can debate whether that was helpful or not, but it doesn’t really matter. Those days are gone.

It’s now not only possible, but relatively easy, to immerse myself constantly in input—Internet, television, radio, reading material—and NEVER encounter a single competing perspective.

The good guys

We become fans of a particular ideology or perspective and support only those who reinforce our convictions. We no longer think or discern; we’re part of a cheering section. Anyone wearing our team’s uniform is a good guy; the rest are bums.

Everyone in my section wears the same colors, so we’re surrounded by birds of our particular feather. It’s easy to imagine that all the really good, kind, informed people are in my section. They’re the only individuals I encounter.

Those in the other section are “over there.” They’re one of “them,” indistinguishable faces in a crowd that exists solely to oppose “us.” I don’t know their kids, their struggles, or their dreams. I know only that they’re part of the other team and that anyone who isn’t with us is against us.

We see the results: increasing polarization, harsh, divisive rhetoric, and the inability to discuss, debate, and disagree respectfully. “They” are not just wrong. They’re evil, they’re the enemy, they want to destroy “us” and our values. And the only way to stop them is a preemptive attack.

I have a dream

Last week we celebrated the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He’s known most prominently for the I Have A Dream speech in which he proclaimed:

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I wonder today whether he might amend his dream to include the hope that his grandchildren might not be judged, categorized, and either demonized or exalted based on their particular choice of feathers.

God’s on our side

A while back an online comment claimed that a certain notion was anti-Christian and that anyone who supported it obviously didn’t believe in Jesus. Since it happened to be an idea with which I agree—and I’m pretty sure I believe in Jesus—I replied with a simple question: Are you sure Jesus would be a _____? (You fill the blank—conservative/liberal, Democrat/Republican, or any other label).

The reply was unequivocal: Absolutely! He would be an extreme _____! And the page filled with concurring comments, an entire circle who seemed prepared to deny the sincerity of my faith because of my opinion on a question of public policy.

People tried to draw Jesus into the political and religious conflicts of his day. He refused to engage. His kingdom was bigger than any nation or policy or human-created label.

I suspect He’d take the same stance today. When I become certain that He’s on my team, I’m creating Him in my image. I’m telling Him to follow me.

That’s not how it works.

He’s not in my exclusive cheering section. He’s not waving my flag, wearing my team colors, and hoping my side wins. He doesn’t want the other side to lose.

He doesn’t hang out exclusively with birds of my particular feather.

As crazy as it seems to me, He died for the folks with the “other” label.

He asks me to follow him, to go and do likewise.

Do you fall into the trap of flocking only with birds of your particular feather until you can’t see anyone else? What are your thoughts about this notion?

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Happy Monday! In our corner of the world it’s a blustery beginning to the week, which has absolutely nothing to do with the word-of-the-week …

Bridges

I’ve had a few encounters over the last few days that leave me asking this question:

Is Jesus more interested in bridges or walls?

I tend to be a wall-builder. My essence seems to demand a separation between right (us) and wrong (them). I’m getting better about wading into senseless, divisive arguments, but that doesn’t block my internal sense of self-righteousness.

I’m pretty sure that’s not how Jesus wants me to look at others. I think He wants me to see commonalities rather than differences, to seek ways to unite rather than divide.

Unfortunately, my definition of “unite” normally means that everyone else should move toward me.

What if Jesus took that approach? What if He’d stayed where He was and insisted that I approach Him on His terms?

He chose instead to come to me and sacrifice Himself to build a bridge. I’m reminded of my friend Dick Foth’s wonderful summary of the gospel:

Jesus left His place
and came to our place.

Then He took our place
so He could take us to His place.

I want to build bridges this week.

“None of us can identify with what you’ve been through.”

I hear that a lot when I speak to groups. The speaker implies that my experience is so uniquely horrific that most folks simply can’t relate. But it goes a step further—somehow, my loss is “worse” than anything most other folks have experienced.

I don’t agree.

When I’m feeling a little sarcastic I’m tempted to reply, “I hear what you’re saying, and I appreciate your concern. But being bald isn’t really as bad as you think.”

I know—it’s a really terrible joke. But doesn’t the corny humor conceal a grain of truth?

None of us can truly identify with another’s experience. If you have a full, luxurious head of hair, you certainly can’t appreciate having most of your scalp involuntarily exposed to the weather. If you can walk and run and jump, you don’t truly understand what it’s like to suddenly lose those abilities forever.

But I cannot fully comprehend the nightmare of abuse or the horror of a child’s death. I don’t understand what it’s like to be in prison. There’s something unique about each loss that makes it, on one level, incomprehensible to anyone else.

My question isn’t about the uniqueness—it’s about the comparing. I guess I get concerned when people compare their pain—or their happiness—to someone else’s.

Some people go even further. “Hearing your story makes me feel guilty about my petty troubles.”

So if I understand it correctly, your pain suddenly disappeared because I showed up with a sadder story? And if someone with terminal cancer enters the room, I guess I’m no longer entitled to my sense of loss?

This preposterous obsession with comparison stems from the culture’s pervasive attitude of scarcity. We act like there’s a limited supply of esteem or self-worth or love. Contentment and happiness become objects of competition; it you want more you have to take them from someone else.

I think it’s this attitude of scarcity that compels us to compare pain and loss. If happiness is defined relative to others, then misery must be that way as well.

It’s a lie.

The simple truth is that one person’s pain has nothing to do with another’s. As a friend of mine says, “Everyone’s worst is their worst.”

I believe God wants me to operate from an attitude of abundance. In John 10:10 Jesus says, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” The KJV translation says, “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.”

Scarcity and comparing are rooted in insecurity. We strive for more in a futile attempt to fill the void of “not enough.” It’s an endless death spiral of guilt and resentment that divides us into “haves” and “have-nots,” “fortunate” and “less fortunate.” It’s a world of “my car’s better than yours” and “your pain’s worse than mine.”

Abundance and fullness offer freedom. When contentment and peace are freely available to all, I can experience compassion without pity and celebration without resentment or guilt.

Pain, loss, and grief are perhaps the most universally human experiences, and what unites is far more powerful than what divides. We devalue this common understanding when we insist on comparing, categorizing, and judging our triumphs and tragedies.

We’d do better to seek understanding that allows us to support each other with unconditional love. You may not know what it’s like to be paralyzed, but you know exactly what it’s like to grieve and ask why God allowed such pain.

That’s an attitude of abundance that fosters growth, wisdom, and transparent relationships.

I do not believe my struggle is any “worse” or “better” than yours—except maybe for the bald part.

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How do you expand your circle?

If you’ve followed along for a while, you know that I think about this community as a circle. The basic idea is that the circle defines whatever the community’s about—core values, mission, goals, stuff like that. You can check out the about page or Defining The Circle for some info about this particular circle.

So in my visual, people inside the circle are folks who buy in to what the circle represents. A particular circle might be a business with employees and customers, a church or other ministry, or even a neighborhood. Some circles, such as a business, are tightly defined. Others, like a neighborhood, might be more loosely defined.

If I haven’t lost you yet, stop and think for a moment about one of your circles and the values, mission, and goals that define it. Then ask yourself how you might go about expanding the circle. Basically, I think about two models which I call push and attract.

PUSH

Pushing people into the circle looks like this. It’s basically about coercion, and it’s built around selling, convincing, and persuading.

• It’s a talking model—it says, “You listen, and we’ll tell you what you need and why you should do it our way with our program.”
• It’s very difficult and expensive to sustain. There’s little incentive for those who are forced or coerced to become loyal supporters and promoters, so you must constantly prowl for new victims.
• It requires incredible persistence, because the moment you stop pushing they’re likely to leave.

Most importantly: To push people into the circle, you must stand outside the circle and shove people in a direction they may not really want to go. Do you see what that means symbolically? Leaving the circle means abandoning the very values you’re trying to promote.

ATTRACT

Attracting people to the circle is like being a magnet. It’s about doing things that people want to be part of, built around modeling and meeting needs.

• It’s a listening model—it says, “Tell me what you need and we’ll work together to meet those needs.”
• Because it’s an attraction model, it’s much easier to sustain. People who are excited about the message and programs will remain without coercion and will willingly recruit others.
• This approach says we’re on the same journey, and we’re all learners, helpers, and facilitators with common interests.

The key difference for me is that you pull people into the circle from the inside. They enter and remain willingly. Symbolically, that means we bring people into the circle more with our actions and attitudes than our words and expertise. So you attract new members by living and being the values you’re promoting.

INCLUSIVE/EXCLUSIVE

The push model demands exclusivity. If someone resists, you simply move on to the next prospect. You spend your time sorting people into prospects (worthwhile) and non-prospects (not worthwhile).

The attraction model invites inclusivity. You spend your time building relationships, listening, and figuring out how to help people.

That doesn’t mean that everyone will be in your circle. Some will make different choices, but you always leave the door open if they are attracted to what’s happening in your circle.

What’s your take? Can you see how this applies to your circles? How will you expand your circles in 2010?

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Setting The Stage For Success

If you know what you’re going to write before you begin, why bother?

How do you decide what to write about?

It’s a question authors hear frequently. We try to offer deep, wise responses that make the process appear more purposeful, and less desperate, than it really is. However, I thought it might be a good topic for a quick post.

A blog, if it works, is a community. I picture a community as a circle, and in this case the circle’s defined by the topics we discuss. I try to address issues that interest me, and that I think will interest you. A lot of the rationale behind this community is explained on the about page, but those are my thoughts.

You’re part of the circle as well, so how about some feedback?

What attracts you to this site? What would you like to discuss?

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One can be very happy without demanding that others agree with them. ~ Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

I’ve been thinking a lot about Chris Guillebeau’s insightful analysis of What Makes A Community? We all live, work, and play in a variety of communities, and I guess I’m especially interested because my efforts to contribute via speaking and writing essentially involve building an online community.

Using a metaphor from my friend Eric Larsen, I tend to envision a community as a circle. The circle has a defined boundary; you’re either in or you’re out.

I think that most worthwhile communities want to attract members and expand the circle. The trick is figuring out how to accomplish that without changing, blurring, or completely erasing the border and making the circle meaningless. If you bring folks into a circle without a clear boundary, you’ve just created an unfocused group with no clear vision, mission, or purpose.

Most communities face two boundary issues. The first is clearly defining the edges. What’s it mean to be inside the circle? Why does the circle exist? What are the shared values and common purposes?

The other problem involves eliminating extraneous and exclusive requirements. A clear boundary doesn’t imply that everyone inside must look, act, or think exactly alike. Within a vibrant community there’s plenty or room for diversity, discussion, and disagreement.

It’s a question of covenant, and no meaningful community can exist without one.

As a teacher, I really only had one rule in my classroom: Everyone gets treated with respect. There’s a lot of latitude for individual behavior and discussion within that boundary, but you can’t stay here if you consistently violate it. You choose, and you’re free to leave if you wish. But if you decide to stay (and I hope you do), that’s the boundary.

Some properties of covenant for a healthy community:

• It’s as inclusive as possible; it doesn’t unnecessarily exclude people.
• Membership is an individual choice, and it’s okay to enter or not.
• It defines the vision, mission, and purpose of the community.
• It’s open to discussion, clarification, or change that advances the community’s mission.

A covenant doesn’t inherently imply exclusion or elitism. It doesn’t mean that those inside the circle are superior; it simply means that we’ve agreed to a common vision. We’d love to have you join us, and it’s okay if you don’t.

What are other properties of covenants in healthy communities?

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 A community is a group of people united through a common struggle with the same stories.

Chris Guillebeau wrote an insightful article called What Makes A Community? I encourage you to read Chris’ thoughts through the lens of a Christian community.

Chris asserts:  “…a community needs friends AND enemies …You need a villain, a bad guy. The bad guy can be a person, group, idea, or belief … having a defined enemy increases the strength of the community.”

I initially reacted pretty negatively to this notion. I didn’t like the “us versus them” mentalitt or the assertion that a community “needs” an enemy. But I think we can learn a lot about Christian communities by analyzing this idea.

First, I’m not certain whether or not a community “needs” an enemy. This may be an interesting philosophical question but in the real world I don’t think it matters. I suspect that every worthwhile community has natural enemies, so whether they’re a required element is sort of irrelevant.

For Christians, I think the nature and identity of the enemy is a more essential discussion. Christians waste enormous amounts of time and energy, and alienate countless millions of people, by inventing false enemies and battling them. Preachers rally the troops against all sorts of ideas, behaviors, groups, or individuals. We close ranks to defend ourselves from these imagined invaders, clearly identifying “us” as the good guys and “them” as the bad guys deserving judgment, contempt, and exclusion.

That’s a wonderful strategy if your goal is strengthening the walls of the existing community, increasing a sense of internal unity by building fortifications against the evil outsiders. Nothing brings people together like a perceived threat, and it doesn’t much matter whether the threat is real or imagined. We can love the bad guys, but we must label them and keep them “out there” at all costs. Any weakness in our defenses will allow them to infiltrate, and then their badness will rub off on us.

There’s only one small problem with this approach—it’s precisely what Jesus instructed us NOT to do.

The church has one primary purpose—to bring the outsiders in. Everything we do should be designed to weaken the walls and break the barriers. “They” are not our enemy, and they only threaten us if we give them the power to do so.

An old friend used to observe that the church is a hospital, not a hall of fame, and a hospital’s frequently a stinky, unpleasant place because it keeps admitting all of those sick folks. But a hospital that refuses entry to those who need it most isn’t doing what it’s designed to do.

The church DOES have a real enemy, but it’s not unacceptable behaviors or divergent ideas. And it’s certainly not the outsiders, the “bad” people we so often exclude with our words and attitudes. The church’s true enemy is a crafty, evil one who uses our tendency to isolate ourselves against us. The true enemy fosters hate and mistrust to isolate us from those who need to hear about Christ.

If we represent the church as a circle, the central goal is to bring people into the circle and make it larger. The enemy gladly hands us the bricks with which to build walls around the circle, bricks constructed of judgment and divisiveness. The enemy whispers that we ought to condemn those with whom we disagree politically and separate ourselves from people who behave in ways of which we disapprove.

I imagine that our true enemy’s greatest fear is that we will actually take Jesus’ words seriously:

“But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you.” (Luke 6: 27-31)

Love tears down the walls between good guys and bad. It’s a poor way to build a fortified community that’s safe from intruders. It’s the only way to build Christ’s church.

Who tends to look like the enemy to you?

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A community is a group of people united through a common struggle with the same stories.

This definition comes from an insightful article by Chris Guillebeau called What Makes A Community?

I highly recommend Chris’ site, The Art of Nonconformity. Chris’ writing makes me think and inspires me to extend my own ideas. I took a long bike ride yesterday and considered one of his claims about community. 

Chris asserts that “…a community needs friends AND enemies …You need a villain, a bad guy. The bad guy can be a person, group, idea, or belief … having a defined enemy increases the strength of the community.”

I think he’s probably correct, but “enemy” is a dangerous term that can generate significant misunderstanding and unnecessary conflict. We must define such a concept clearly and deploy it carefully.

Every community has insiders and outsiders. If we’ve decided to join a particular community, we naturally agree and identify with its members. The insiders are “us” and the outsiders are “them.” Unfortunately, we tend to create excessive and pointless quarrels by incorrectly casting all of “them” as the enemy.

My friend Eric characterizes a community as a circle. Eric says that you need to be clear about what it means to be inside the circle, the shared vision that defines the community. If you don’t choose to enter, that’s fine. We still respect and value you; you’re just not in this particular circle right now.

Choosing to remain outside a community doesn’t make you evil. “They” aren’t automatic enemies.

In fact, if you wish to expand the circle and grow the community, the new members must come from “them.” You’re not going to attract folks to your circle by calling them names and portraying them as evil.

Sadly, insecure members of a community often feel threatened by those who choose not to enter their circle. It’s somehow okay if we decide to exclude you, because then we’re in control. But there’s a sense of rejection when you determine that my circle’s not for you. We need to be secure enough to avoid labeling those who choose differently as the evil enemy.

A true enemy poses an actual threat to the community or its members. Simply choosing not to enter the circle shouldn’t be interpreted as threatening.

I’m not certain whether a community “needs” enemies. My idealistic side wants to believe they don’t, but in the real world it probably doesn’t matter. Most communities have natural enemies, so we just need to be clear about the bad guy’s true identity. He’s already there; we don’t need to invent him.

If the community values itself and its members, it’s important to identify, define, and confront actual threats. Real threats shouldn’t be ignored, but we don’t need to waste time and energy on imagined dangers.

Ideally, we establish a community to accomplish something apart from simply perpetuating itself. The real potency of the circle isn’t enhanced much by repelling invaders, because this sort of oppositional mentality gives “them control. “Their” tactics, agendas, and priorities dictate the actions of the community.

Real strength develops when a community unites behind a common purpose. Ironically, that sort of shared vision tends to attract “them” and make them want to join “us.”

The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him a friend. ~ Abraham Lincoln

Who are your real enemies? How can you make your community such an attractive place that he wants to join you?

Please leave a comment, visit my website, and/or send me an email at rich@richdixon.net. 

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