Give Me the Ball

This blog is an excerpt from my book, RENEW YOUR CONGREGATION; HEALING THE SICK AND RAISING THE DEAD.

When the game is on the line and points must be scored, they say a true leader will start yelling, “Give me the ball.” The leader knows that winning and losing are in the balance. Success or failure will hang on what happens in the next few moments. A true leader has the confidence in his or her ability and so wants the opportunity to succeed.

I am not a born leader. I had to learn to lead. My earliest experiences in participation in team sports makes that clear. The picture is clear in my mind. As a skinny, nearsighted, nervous, new to the game, introverted, nine-year-old Little Leaguer, I sat at the end of the bench in the ninth inning of any close game and prayed I would not have to go to the plate and bat. If you could have read my mind or my body language, it was obvious that everything in me was screaming, “Don’t give me the ball!” I had no doubt I would fail and was more than happy to bypass the opportunity to prove my point. That nine-year-old, coke-bottle-bottom glasses–wearing me had no signs of leadership to be seen.

Those Little League days were a long time ago. Many things in my life have changed since I was a nine-year-old. I have played many games in many sports; and though I never was a superstar, I learned to do many things pretty well and gained a lot of confidence. Though I can’t ever remember insisting that my teammates give me the ball, I got to the point that when the game was on the line I was usually pleased to have the chance to win the game.

A recent Easter Sunday was a totally unique experience for me. I had undergone some knee surgery and was having trouble recovering. Easter morning arrived and found me lying in bed thinking only about how miserable I felt after another sleepless night. My wife, Nancy, as she left for worship, asked if I would be there later. I pulled the blanket over my head and said, “No way.” I was miserable in any way you wanted to measure miserable—physically, mentally, and spiritually. I was tired, frustrated, hurting, depressed, angry, and prepared to launch into a huge pity party. If anyone could have used a good resurrection morning sermon, it was I.

What a glorious Easter morning I was experiencing. I would like to say that God appeared in my bedroom that morning and healed me. But he didn’t. That kind of thing doesn’t happen to me. It was just me and my aching, nonfunctioning knee. My guess is God was busy at church that morning. But the “me” in that room was the person God had made me. God didn’t need to be there. His work was already done. He had been working on me for a long time.

As I lay in bed feeling profoundly sorry for myself, a new thought popped into my mind. “So what if I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in three weeks? So what if my knee aches? So what if I’m not preaching this morning? So what? I’ll be danged if a little pain in my knee is going to make me miss Easter worship for the first time in my life.” God may have not made me especially spiritual, but he sure made me strong-willed. (My friends called it hardheaded.) So it was up and off to worship on Resurrection Sunday. It took a while to get out of the bed, into some clothes, and out to the car. But what the heck, I had wanted to be late to church for years. Here was my big chance. I only regret that I don’t have video footage of my ten-minute struggle to get in the car. I think I could have won the $10,000 prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

It was great to be with the family of God. I was deeply moved during the time of worship. My associate minister preached a great sermon. But I couldn’t help sitting there in the front row thinking, “Give me the ball!” God not only did not give me the ball this Easter Sunday morning, he benched me. It is not that I think I am an all-star preacher. It is just that I was sitting in the room with hundreds of people seeking to hear from God on Easter morning, and I not only didn’t have the ball, I wasn’t even in the game.

Pastoral leaders who are going to lead churches in revitalization and transformation are leaders who have an internal voice crying out, “Give me the ball.” Church revitalization and transformation call for leadership: leadership that wants the ball.

Copyright © 2015, William T. McConnell, All Rights Reserved

Bill McConnell is Senior Minister at Lindenwood Christian Church in Memphis, Tennessee and is a Church Transformation consultant and a Christian Leadership Coach. He is a frequent speaker at Church Transformation events. His latest book on church transformation is DEVELOPING A SIGNIFICANT CHURCH and is available at Westbow Press.

He can be contacted @ bill45053@gmail.com. Connect with him on Facebook @ William T. McConnell or on Twitter @billmc45053 or visit his Amazon Author Page @ Amazon

Pretty Good

A couple of months ago I attended a meeting where the leader wanted to play one of those "let's get to know each other" games. These games are often played in meetings I attend because I am a minister and thus attend meetings with other minister types. And, generally speaking, either by natural inclination or through training, minister types tend to be touchy/feely people. I just hate those games.

Before you insist I enter therapy to gain insight into my problem, I am pretty sure I know why I hate that crap. First of all, I am not a touchy/feely kind of guy so the get to know you better/share your inner being with me goofiness just drives me up the wall. My lack of desire to "share" with you is probably because I really have no interest in getting to know the other people in the group and because I am not particularly interested in them getting to know me. Here is what I am thinking: "I came for the meeting. The meeting has a purpose or I would not have come to the meeting. So let's get on with the meeting because the sooner we get on with the meeting the sooner we can finish the meeting and I can leave the meeting." The nice way to look at this attitude is that I am mission oriented. Another take could be that I don't particularly enjoy being around people. I say let's go with the mission oriented idea.

The variations on the get to know you games are limited so they are pretty predictable. Sooner or later we almost always end up with one of those "Who are you questions?" Answering that question invariably takes us through a cycle of answers as the group leader attempts to "empower" us to share who we really are. The first round of the cycle is where we tell each other what we do for a living. Since our deeply sensitive group leader can't leave well enough alone, he or she knowingly smiles and tells us that our jobs don't define who were are. The leader is wrong but at this point I choose to not correct the leader.

So we go around again and try to sound a little more profound on our second try. We say things like "I am a husband… a father… a Christian." There are smiles all around and it is obvious that our more insightful, more touchy/feely answers, are better and more correct answers. Since this isn't my first rodeo, occasionally I jump ahead and give the "correct" answer the first time around. I do this for several reasons. Because it throws the leader and his or her plan off course and that is fun to watch. Or because it speeds up the process and we can get on with the meeting. Or because it weird's out the people in the meeting who already know me.

At this particular meeting I jumped right in and answered the "Who are you?" question honestly. It was not my intention but my answer kind of kinked things up when I told the group, "I am a failure." It took a couple of seconds for my answer to sink in and the shock waves to settle. And then they all piled in with their heartfelt reassurances that of course I wasn't a failure, I was wonderful, blah, blah, blah. I smiled because their words were less for me and more for them. They needed to make me take that back. They thought they were trying to make me feel better, but they were just trying to make themselves feel better because we humans can deal with just about anything but the truth. I find it fascinating, but it seems that most often speaking the truth is perceived as being rude or mean.

If you ask me who I am (And I realize you haven't, I can answer that question. I am a son, a brother (five times), a husband (twice), a father (several times), a grandfather (several more times), a minister (more places than I really want to recount), a writer, a firefighter and EMT, a teacher, a police and prison chaplain, and a Christian. And pretty much a failure at all of these.

When I say that I am a failure I do not mean that I am a dismal, pathetic failure. Mine is not a life that is in the crapper. It isn't a "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me I going out in the yard and eat worms," "Buddy could you spare me a dollar," failure of a life. Let me put it like this - You wouldn't want to be married to me. I expect any day to be arrested for impersonating a minister. If nice is the definition of a good Christian, I am never going to make the grade.

I have done many things but none of them really well. Sure, I have, as a Christian and as a minister, led a bunch of people to meet God. And, as an EMT, I have delayed that God meeting for a few people. My kids don't hate me and my church thinks they have probably had worse ministers. I can't preach my way out of a paper bag but I can put a few holes in the bag.

It's not so much that I am a failure, it is just I haven't done anything all that well. I am a jack of all trades and a master of none. I haven't excelled at much of anything and some of the things I have tried to do have ended with me face down in the turf. Pretty good would describe me. I played sports in high school and I was pretty good but not college scholarship material. I have graduated from high school, college and a couple of graduate schools and I was a pretty good student. I have written several books and one of them was pretty good.

Perhaps I have a problem with expectations. Over the years I have managed to get to the point that I have almost no expectations of others but my expectations for me remain high. I would, sometime in my life, love to pass up pretty good and do at least one excellent. That wouldn't be as much of a problem as it is but I am running out of time. I am feeling a time constraint. To steal a line from 30 something childless women, my biological clock is ticking. I am no longer young. Heck, I am no longer middle aged, unless I am going to live well past 100. Not much chance of that since I get a sense from my doctor that he will be pleased if he manages to drag my pathetic body past 65 and into retirement.

You didn't ask, but that is who I am. A guy who is neither pretty nor good who has done most things in life pretty good but is still hoping for better.

Copyright © 2010, William T. McConnell, All Rights Reserved