The Power of Ten Things

wisdom from Hamilton, and Presbyterians in sensible shoes

Welcome to lots of new folks here in the Blue Room! Those who joined by way of this week’s pastors’ renewal retreat—I’m so glad you’re here, and let me beg your indulgence: today’s reflection is the section I read to you from Hope: A User’s Manual. I flew home from the West Coast yesterday with intentions of writing something new on the plane, but the internet was choppy, and this piece is really where I’m at anyway, after a good but full week, and a heart full of grief over the terrorist attack by Hamas and the resulting retaliation by Israel. I hurt for innocent people caught in cycles of violence over which they have no control. 

At times like this, I feel utterly helpless. This reflection speaks into that, from a section of the book called The Practice of Hope.

My particular branch of Christianity doesn’t have a pope or bishops handing down decisions for the rest of the church. What we have, for better and worse, is one another. We are self-governing, which looks like a variety of democratically elected leaders at multiple levels of governance and culminates in a subset of these leaders gathering every two years in a national meeting called the General Assembly.

Imagine hundreds of people in an overly air-conditioned conference center, decked out in lanyards and comfortable shoes, gathering in committees, hearing reports, taking stands yea and nay, and hopefully, exemplifying the wisdom of the crowd, the conviction that together we see much more truth than any single one of us can.

GA is equal parts heartening and mind-numbing. For every inspiring testimony of a group doing bold justice-building work, family reunion-style conversation over dinner or in the exhibit hall, or surprising moment of grace, there are late nights of wordsmithing, tedious parliamentary maneuvers (“having been perfected as a motion, shall the substitute motion become the main motion?”), and politicking by interest groups.

I was attending one of these GA meetings some years ago when the family separation policy at the US border came to full light. The crisis at the border shined a harsh light on some of the picayune insider decisions being made about the church’s governance and structure. Who could possibly care about non-geographic synods or restructuring the denomination’s central office? It was surreal to observe committee meetings and have conversations in hotel lobbies and a fancy convention hall, knowing there were children along our southern border who had no idea when or whether they would see their parents again. 

I was grateful to be around people who were mostly as pained and appalled as I felt. Immigration is a tough, tangled issue, befuddling countless presidential administrations regardless of party. But as a Christian, it’s hard to see much gray area in taking children from their parents and putting them up in warehouses. Jesus said in Matthew 25, “that which you did to the least of these, you did to me.” And he didn’t stutter.

The prevailing temptation, then and now, is numbness. The onslaught of bad news often feels unrelenting, and it’s hard to even figure out what’s accurate, let alone what to do about it. And the actions of an informed citizen—writing a letter, casting a vote—feel so paltry in the wake of political forces that are much bigger than all of us.

One day, we took a break from the committee meetings and plenary sessions to march en masse to the city’s justice center, carrying with us $47,000 to bail some thirty-six people out of jail. These were folks who were simply awaiting trial, but because they lacked the funds to post bail, they were languishing in the meantime, away from partners, children, jobs, and communities.

Photo from this article about the event.

It was inspiring to put faith into action, to do something public and specific to “set captives free.” It also felt like not nearly enough to address the world’s wounds, as news broke on our phones and TVs of so-called tender age shelters for infants and toddlers along the border.

The week before, I’d heard an interview with Lin-Manuel Miranda and Thomas Kail, the creative team behind the musical Hamilton. They talked about the early days of working on the musical—writing, editing, and refining it—and how overwhelming it seemed. They adopted a motto, co-opted from Jerome Robbins when Fiddler on the Roof was in previews in Detroit. Things were not going well for the fledgling production. Kail says: “There’s this moment when Fiddler is really struggling, and Austin Pendleton, a young actor at this point, said, ‘What are we going to do?’ and Robbins said, ‘Ten things a day.’”

“Just do the thing,” Kail continues. “Do the stuff that’s in front of you: ‘What can we accomplish today?’ We would come in after a show, and Lin and I would talk to each other . . . and we’d say OK, what can we accomplish at this time. And you just start chipping away.”

Even our act of posting bail, singular as it was, was the result of a “ten things” mindset. Once the location of the General Assembly was set, church officials began working with organizers and community leaders, building relationships, learning the needs of the community, and discerning how the Presbyterian Church (USA) might support them. Step by step, they found their way into an action that, while being a specific action on a specific day, will become part of the deeper work of advocacy around criminal-justice reform.

In my experience coaching leaders, many clients know where they want to go, but they’re immobilized by the tremendous size of the task. So we work together on the principle of “ten things a day”—small, bite-sized pieces that slowly but surely move us forward. It’s a way of staying present to today’s work instead of tomorrow’s results, which we can never control. We live in chaotic, perilous times. Regardless of our particular convictions and beliefs, numbing out is a luxury we cannot afford. No one can do everything, but everyone can do something. At times, the “something” is to pull back and rest—but always in the service of a deeper engagement, one small act at a time.

Reflect

We all numb out from time to time. What kinds of circumstances tempt you to do so? What are some of your go-to numbing behaviors?

Practice

Practice the art of ten things. When you feel overwhelmed or uncertain, or are tempted to tune out, make a list of tiny behaviors that could move you forward with purpose. If they still feel too hard to complete, make them even smaller.

~

What I’m Up To

My sermon from last Sunday touched on the situation in Gaza. I emailed it to my supporting subscribers on Monday, but it’s available to anyone at this link. 

The clergy retreat I led this week was around the topic of hope, and I asked people to share their favorite songs that gave them a jolt of hope. I made a playlist of those tunes!

Steady on.