"History Without A Reason" by David L. Odom
Early in my new boss's tenure, I asked her for help.
Is this one of those situations that has a history but not a reason?" she asked.
The question stopped me cold.
She told me that in her two-week tenure, several people had sought her advice. In each case, she had asked, "Why are we doing this?" In response, the person would launch into a story that never included a reason for the project.
Since hearing the phrase from my boss -- Old Testament scholar Ellen Davis, who is serving as interim dean of Duke Divinity School -- I have repeated it to several leaders whose faces lit up. They can see in their contexts the projects that have a history without a reason.
Learning the history of an issue is critical. It reveals stakeholders whose views might remain important and can give hints about the circumstances that first gave rise to the issue. Those who claim to know the history often care about a situation's outcome, and giving them a chance to tell the story helps bring them on board.
I have met several leaders who believed that the relevant history started with their own arrival at an institution. My boss was pointing to a different challenge.
During good times, an organization can coast on autopilot. The reasons for an initiative can get lost, though it can still seem to be productive. When times are tough -- economic challenges, leadership changes, neighborhood changes, stakeholder investment shifts -- it is critical to be able to articulate why the organization does what it does.
The starting point is to ask, "Why?"
But be careful. Asking why can make people nervous and cause them to wonder about your motivations -- are you simply trying to take control of the situation? Assure them that you're trying to understand the situation, and listen carefully. If their story doesn't conclude with a reason, ask the question again.
In my case, Dean Davis asked the question to understand the dilemma and empower me to solve it. I had wanted her to make a decision, but she wanted to offer me some guidelines for solving it myself. The decision had high stakes, and we had not worked together before. Her question enabled us to share information and gain each other's trust.
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MANAGEMENT, STRATEGY
David L. Odom: "History without a reason"
Many times institutions have traditions -- such as the Sunday service time -- that are preserved without a reason for doing so.
Wikimedia Commons/TheroadislongLeaders must be able to articulate why an institution does what it does. Is it a matter of history, or is there a reason? writes the executive director of Leadership Education at Duke Divinity.
Early in my new boss’s tenure, I asked her for help.
“Is this one of those situations that has a history but not a reason?” she asked.
The question stopped me cold.
She told me that in her two-week tenure, several people had sought her advice. In each case, she had asked, “Why are we doing this?” In response, the person would launch into a story that never included a reason for the project.
Since hearing the phrase from my boss -- Old Testament scholar Ellen Davis, who is serving as interim dean of Duke Divinity School -- I have repeated it to several leaders whose faces lit up. They can see in their contexts the projects that have a history without a reason.
Learning the history of an issue is critical. It reveals stakeholders whose views might remain important and can give hints about the circumstances that first gave rise to the issue. Those who claim to know the history often care about a situation’s outcome, and giving them a chance to tell the story helps bring them on board.
I have met several leaders who believed that the relevant history started with their own arrival at an institution. My boss was pointing to a different challenge.
During good times, an organization can coast on autopilot. The reasons for an initiative can get lost, though it can still seem to be productive. When times are tough -- economic challenges, leadership changes, neighborhood changes, stakeholder investment shifts -- it is critical to be able to articulate why the organization does what it does.
The starting point is to ask, “Why?”
But be careful. Asking why can make people nervous and cause them to wonder about your motivations -- are you simply trying to control of the situation? Assure them that you’re trying to understand the situation, and listen carefully. If their story doesn’t conclude with a reason, ask the question again.
In my case, Dean Davis asked the question to understand the dilemma and empower me to solve it. I had wanted her to make a decision, but she wanted to offer me some guidelines for solving it myself. The decision had high stakes, and we had not worked together before. Her question enabled us to share information and gain each other’s trust.
When I was a young pastor, I was the one asking questions.
I was troubled that my congregation had its Easter Sunday worship service at 9 a.m. Every other Sunday of the year, we worshipped at 11 a.m.
When I asked why, people said that 9 a.m. was more convenient for Easter, but no one had any evidence that it was. I was worried about the people who came to church only once a year and might assume that we held our service two hours later.
When I pressed the question, I learned that the church had historically held a sunrise service followed by a breakfast. Because of the long delay between the end of breakfast and the beginning of the 11 a.m. service, the second service had been moved back to 9. It had been more than 10 years since the last sunrise service and breakfast. The 9 a.m. service had a history -- but no longer a reason.
I was worried that newcomers in our community would show up at 11 a.m. thinking we would have a service and then feel left out when we didn’t. On my first Easter Sunday there, I decided to hang out in the parking lot after the 9 a.m. service to see whether anyone showed up at 11. Five carloads of newcomers pulled into the empty parking lot about 10:50.
If there is something significant at stake, it is unwise to frame the issue as simply “history or reason.” As a leader, approach the situation with a both-and mindset: How might you preserve the history and make space for something new?
My colleague Greg Jones refers to this mindset as “traditioned innovation.” In our case, church leaders didn’t want to change the time, but they did agree to invest in signs and other media to announce the “special time on a special day” for Easter. We worked hard to reach newcomers in the community who would find the 9 a.m. service appealing.
With the phrase “history without a reason” stuck in my mind, I listen carefully to the stories people tell me about why something is done a certain way. Does the story imply a reason? Does the person hear what the story implies? Does the reason make sense in the current context? Can the history and the reason be brought together?
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Monday, January 4, 2016
Helping a community of faith 're-vision' its personal and collective narratives is one of the greatest leadership challenges of the age. InFinding Our Story, Larry Golemon, lead researcher in the Alban Institute's Narrative Leadership in Ministry project, has assembled essays by congregational consultants who use the power of story to help congregations heal, strengthen, and reinvent themselves.
Buy the book
"What Stories Should We Tell?" by Gretchen ZiegenhalsThe stories we tell form us as people. They show us who we are and who we could still become. They form our young people as well.
This past July, I attended the 60th wedding anniversary of my husband's parents. As a part of the celebration, 75 family members filled a local park for an afternoon of shared food, stories, games, prayer and visiting.
I was captivated by both the first generation and the third -- the surviving Wirzba brothers and their wives, almost all in their 80s now, and the more than 30 young people, ages 13 to 31. Throughout our visit, we listened to stories told in broken voices by the first generation, who had experienced unspeakable suffering and loss in World War II Europe and whose lives were still shaped by those stories.
I had heard the stories for many years, and already had been moved by their power. What was new was the way in which the third generation -- my children and their many cousins -- listened and responded to the stories, now that they were old enough to appreciate them. And they asked for more.
The themes of the stories kept coming back to a kerygma of courage, hard work, endurance, sacrifice, hope, and faith and trust in the grace and mercy of God.
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MANAGEMENT, COMMUNICATION
Gretchen E. Ziegenhals: "What stories should we tell?"
Bigstock/leafThe stories we tell about ourselves and our institutions form us, as well as future generations. What core values do they convey? wonders a managing director at Leadership Education at Duke Divinity.
The stories we tell form us as people. They show us who we are and who we could still become. They form our young people as well.
This past July, I attended the 60th wedding anniversary of my husband’s parents. As a part of the celebration, 75 family members filled a local park for an afternoon of shared food, stories, games, prayer and visiting.
I was captivated by both the first generation and the third -- the surviving Wirzba brothers and their wives, almost all in their 80s now, and the more than 30 young people, ages 13 to 31. Throughout our visit, we listened to stories told in broken voices by the first generation, who had experienced unspeakable suffering and loss in World War II Europe and whose lives were still shaped by those stories.
I had heard the stories for many years, and already had been moved by their power. What was new was the way in which the third generation -- my children and their many cousins -- listened and responded to the stories, now that they were old enough to appreciate them. And they asked for more.
The themes of the stories kept coming back to a kerygma of courage, hard work, endurance, sacrifice, hope, and faith and trust in the grace and mercy of God.
Uncle Emil, the oldest of the remaining brothers, told how, in the last months of the war, he and hundreds of other 16-year-old Germans were forced into the army by the desperate Nazis. Not trained or equipped to fight, they were captured almost immediately by the Allies and confined for three months in an open-air field. Two-thirds of these German teenagers died from exposure and starvation as they stood packed in like cattle through the nightmarish months.
When the war ended, the gates were opened and the young men who were still alive were told to go. Uncle Emil described how, barely alive, he stumbled out of the prison field and walked to the nearest town. He knocked on the first door he found. The family living there took him in, fed and clothed him, and adopted him as their son until, months later, he was able to locate his own family and emigrate to Canada.
The love this family showed to a stranger, no questions asked, provided Uncle Emil with hope and faith in God’s grace and mercy at a desperate time. Against the horror and inhumanity that surrounded them, the family willing to take in a stranger embodied the faith that ultimately helped the Wirzba family survive.
I recently spent a week with a group of young leaders for Foundations of Christian Leadership(link is external). We discussed many stories, including the institutional narratives they wrote in preparation for the event, and the stories of how and why they lead.
And we asked many questions:
- What stories should we tell? What are the core values we convey when we tell them?
- How do we steward and share our institutional stories?
- How do we avoid telling just the easy stories? How do we honor the neglected and uncomfortable ones?
- Are our stories of fear or of hope? Do we root our stories in our faith or in our doubts?
- What stories do our institutions tell our young people? Are they stories that encourage and sustain? Are they stories of sacrifice, thriving and hope?
- In what ways might hopeful stories help attract and form that elusive generation of young people who are not interested in the church?
- How do we choose which story will define us? How do we choose a story that promises “a new start” versus “more of the same”?
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