Unleashing The Power Of Rubber Bands (14 page)

Our ability to love
is reflected in our

capacity to forgive.

Our ability to love is reflected in our capacity to forgive, and mistakes give us a public opportunity for both. Autopsies that lead to forgiveness and learning rather than grudge holdingand blaming create organizations that are moving into the future well with God, not paralyzed by fear and relational wholeness. God’s fresh winds of the Spirit are always blowing.

Perhaps our mistakes give us fresh eyes to catch that wind.

when to
Worry

RECENTLY A GUY CALLED
our office. He was the CEO of amidsize company that had enjoyed early and explosive growth, but now he found his team in a season of stagnation. He spent a fair amount of time explaining to me the specifics of their history as a business and answering some of the questions I was asking to better understand his challenges.

Then he said, “Here’s the bottom line. We all like each other, we get along great, and we never disagree. We just aren’t moving forward.”

I offered that those things were inexorably linked.

Most teams view conflict as a sign of serious problems. It’s easy to mistake displays of quick agreement, early consensus, and lack of objections for signs of health. But teams that get along all of the time and never disagree ought to make you nervous. Really nervous. Palm-sweating, palpitation-inducing nervous.

It’s funny how looking good on the outside often betrayssome serious stuff going on inside. Like the runner who drops dead of a heart attack. It’s a surprise, but he’s still dead.

Here’s the truth: Conflict is basically energy, and, harkening back to Physics 101, you know that energy has to go somewhere. The good news is that as the leader, you can decide where that energy goes:

Underground, in the roll of the eyes, the silent response, the meeting after the meeting where people declare laughingly, “That’ll never work!”

Or . . .

In the meeting, face-to-face, no holding back, robust debate of the issues, no grudges afterward.

I would pick number two every time. The problem is, and we all know it, that it’s not as simple as just picking a number. Too often, all the things listed in number one are hidden behind the mask of an approving nod:
Sure, that
sounds like a great idea. Yes I am behind this 100 percent.
Malicious compliance. Something deep down in your gut is reminding you that approving nods rarely result in follow-through. When that happens, it’s a sure sign that conflict has gone underground.

Getting along, just not moving forward.

Let me tell you how I know so much about this. I have some pretty impressive credentials when it comes to conflict. Actually, I have often been the one doing the subversive conflict thing. I definitely did the roll of the eyes—only in my mind’s eye—during the meeting. And then once we got behind closed doors, I could openly roll my eyes with the best of them, garnishing great laughter as I delicately mocked the decision. It was delicious, the admiration I gained. I had quite a following, all of us cowards.

Funny how something that was once so much fun is now the source of great embarrassment to me. But I’ll have to say this about really embarrassing situations: Eventually you either leave or learn. I’m happy to say that most often—not always, but most often—I learned.

And as I was learning, I also ended up leading people who were just like I had been. Leadership irony, I suppose. Annoying for sure. But at least I could offer a little grace with my irritation.

So, back to worrying about when there isn’t conflict.

Great teams
need
spirited, unfiltered debate. They need it to clear the air, they need it to trust each other, and they need it to make important decisions worth committing to. Great teams need leaders who are comfortable with debate and actually require it.

One of my colleagues, Kent Bechler, often says that the further up you go in an organization, the less truth you will hear. For that reason, wise leaders surround themselves with people who aren’t afraid to tell the truth.

I was sitting in my office one day when Steve, my associate director, stuck his head in the door and said, “Do you have a minute?”

Now leadership is a relationally intensive endeavor and leaders must provide those they lead with access. But you already know that this is a chapter on conflict, so we’ll cover that issue of access and relationship in another chapter.

Sure Steve, come on in! Glad to have you in my office. Glad you are benefiting from my often-open-door policy. Love working with you. What’s on your mind, my friend?

“Well, I want to talk to you about something, and I’m not the only one who feels this way.”

Not a great way to start, but I was the one who had invited him in.

Please, tell me more.

Steve explained that when I first arrived to lead Axis, the one thing he liked (this kid was not earning any brownie points) was my meetings. He said that it had been a long time since someone had put as much time and thought and preparation into the Axis meetings.

And then he made an abrupt shift and said something like, “I don’t know what has been occupying your time now, but your meetings suck.”

Okay . . .

So, Steve, how long did you say you had been looking for another place to work?

Who does this guy think he is? What is he, twenty-four? Is
he kidding me? Does he have any idea what my days are like?
how much work I do? how often I protect Axis and the staff
from all the other organizational issues I am working on?

It’s amazing how many thoughts can flash through your mind in a millisecond, while there is still a pleasant smile plastered on your face. It’s also amazing how sometimes, amid all those thoughts, a rational one rises like a phoenix. I asked myself,
What part of what he is saying is
not true?
Notice, that’s a different question than
What part
of what he is saying do I not like?

The truth was, Steve was right. When I first started leading Axis, I was so excited. So grateful for such a wonderful opportunity, so thankful to be allowed to lead in an area for which I had so much passion. And I threw the best of who I was into it.

I thought about meetings all the time. Patrick Len-cionitalks a lot about meetings as the places where most of leadership happens. A leader who says he doesn’t likemeetings is a lot like a surgeon saying, “Yeah, if it wasn’t for operating, I’d really like my job.” If you are a leader, meetings
are
your job. And I took that seriously. At least at first.

Pat also says that your people should look forward to meetings more than they would the invitation to a movie. Yeah, how’s that for clarifying the gap?

So when I first started leading Axis, I thought about the purpose of each meeting. I asked myself who needed to be there, what information I needed to gather beforehand, and what I could do to make the meetings more creative, fast paced, and fun. I also always tried to end on time and leave people wanting more.

But then, life got busy. Actually leadership got busy. I had other plates to spin, other things to think about and give my energy to, and before I knew it, even I didn’t want to go to my meetings.

I guess I figured that since I got my meetings off to a good start (and that is probably a great way to begin a new leadership run, with a shift in the tone of the meetings that in itself declares, “This is a new day”), I could check that off my list. No one told me that in or der to keep our meetings energized, I needed to continue spending time on them. I guess no one should have had to tell me that.

So I was left with this: What part of what Steve said to me wasn’t true?

And then, in that split second, another thought showed up:
What kind of courage had it taken Steve to initiate this
conversation with me?

With the help of those two thoughts, I asked Steve to tell me more, and we had a great conversation about how to rectify the situation. Steve, God bless him, had given me a gift. A gift wrapped in a package that almost caused me to miss it, but a gift nonetheless.

Steve had given me the gift of conflict. The gift that keeps giving, even when you don’t want it.

Really, no thank you. I can’t accept it. Really, you shouldn’t have. Really.

But here’s the funny thing about conflict. Conflict isa spiritual formation practice. You don’t read much about it, what with all the attention on quiet timesand journaling and listening to praise songs. Maybe that’s too bad, and maybe we are the poorer because of it.

Conflict is a spiritual
formation practice.

Conflict is this crucible for change. It is the environment in which we can take some of our best and deepest looks at ourselves and our organizations. It is the tension that stirs us to resolution, the conversation that leads to understanding and apology. Conflict prompts an internal look, a conversation with God, a repentance that is rare.

I remember a time that I was angry with another leader I worked with at Willow Creek. And one of the things I loved the most about the culture at Willow was the commitment to conflict resolution and change. So I went to my boss and explained the whole situation from my perspective, whichof course I was sure was the only one. Wisely, my boss set up a meeting with me and the other leader. I had
so
been hoping thatwouldn’t be the outcome. Surely, I thought, my boss could just go to this other leader and whack him up the side of the head, and we could be done with it. But
no,
we had to actually
do
the Matthew 18 thing. I was pretty sure that Matthew 18 was just a suggestion Jesus had made as a last-ditch effort when gossip and resentment just weren’t working anymore.

Conflict is this crucible
for change.

So there we sat, the badmean leader, my boss, and me. We talked and listened, explained and shared frustrations. Then at one point, my boss asked me what I thought this other leader’s motives were.

Oh, yeah right . . . I am
so
not going there. I will justpresent the facts, Your Honor. No speculation here.

My boss went on to explain that we weren’t just here totalk about behaviors but also about motivations. Because one determines the other, and you can’t change one without understanding the other.

So down we went, where the air was damp and heavy, the visibility not very good, and the oxygen saturation low. It was slow-moving, difficult, and dangerous work. It was a long meeting, and we were exhausted. But here’s what emerged:

The bad-mean leader was operating out of power and image management. I was being a martyr, avoider, and gossiper. We sat for a long time talking about the truth of those things and working toward admitting and resolving them, to the extent you can do that in one conversation. We talked about what it meant—what it really meant—to live and lead out of community and to be followers of Christ, and how that affected the motives we had uncovered.

Things aren’t always fifty-fifty. In fact, I’d say they rarely are. And this was no exception. Bad-mean leader bore a bit more weight of responsibility. But the amazing thing was that bad-mean leader was the one to bring that up. (Believe me, this book is full of times when I was the one bearing the higher percentage. And if you are tempted to think it is petty and unnecessary to determine percentages, I pretty strongly disagree with that. It may be difficult to determine, but I think it is important.)

That conversation, laden with conflict, was the catalyst for deep growth. We did some hard repair work, both separately and in the context of our relationship, and today, bad-mean leader and I are still good friends.

With such a good outcome, it’s a wonder we don’t go looking for conflict.

As you’ve no doubt figured out by now, one of the mentors I have been blessed with is Max DePree. For many years, Max was the CEO of Herman Miller, which was voted one of the top fifty companies in the country at which to work. Max has taught me
so
many things about leadership, and this was one of the first.

Max described a time when he and a handful of other CEOs had gathered for a meeting. During one of the breaks, the talk turned to what CEOs should do when they receive an anonymous e-mail or letter that is critical of their leadership. To a person, the response around the table was a proud and dismissive “throw it away.”

I’ll never forget Max’s silence. Sort of the preview to an alternative perspective. He listened for a while and then spoke. “I read every one of them. I consider if there might be some truth in them. I think the fact that the complaints are anonymous, while not the best method of communication, is a completely different issue than whether or not part or all of what they are saying is legitimate.”

That got everyone’s attention. What kind of humility and courage was at the core of a man who could graciously and authentically respond that way? The admiration around the circle was evident.

Even anonymous conflict is worth considering as a possible catalyst for growth and change. I figure if God can speak to Balaam through the mouth of an ass, he can speak to me through anyone.

I vividly remember an Axis meeting that was filled with very uncomfortable conflict. We had been working on our spring retreat for about six months. In addition to our weekend services, our home groups, and our serving opportunities, our spring retreat was one of the most strategic events we had.

Nearly half of the Axis community would attend these three days in Wisconsin (hey, in the Midwest your choices are limited)—a great combination of leadership, core attendees, and people new to the Axis community. We worked hard to build deeply into all three groups.

Typically the leaders arrived on Friday evening to participate in activities planned just for them. We provided a great meal with a lot of storytelling and vision. We provided training on specific leadership skills and communicated what each person’s role would be for the next two days, toward both our regular and new retreat attendees.

Saturday and Sunday would then be filled with icebreakers, teaching, singing, small-group time, videos, and highlights of the best of Axis. Every year, this retreat was one of the most important and defining things we did.

So on the Tuesday before the retreat, our Axis team met to go over final details of the retreat. I started the meeting by talking through the first three or four things our leaders would experience when they arrived, and the importance of each one of them. Then, using those as the framework for our discussion, I turned to our director of operations and said, “Fred (you know that’s not his name), how are the final plans for those first few elements?”