Putting out fires or fanning the flames? Being wise in worship and leadership
Preacher: Revd Marja Flipse, Vicar for Liturgy and Worship East Cardiff Ministry Area
Readings: Numbers 11: 4-6, 10-16, 24-29; Mark 9: 38-50
It’s been 21 years this month since I walked into this chapel as a new student. I was doing a Masters in divinity in the Netherlands, and halfway through finishing it, I chose to spend some of that time here in St Andrews. As it happens, it’s also pretty much exactly half a lifetime ago. And there is something of a ‘before St Andrews’ and ‘after St Andrews’ about my life.
Because, as some of you will know, and as some of you will soon find out, there is something very special about St Andrews. There is no place quite like it. It is, or will be, special to you in so many ways; in ways that are unique to you, and in ways that are shared with the rest of the community here.
And there is, of course, something really really formative about that first time you live on your own, in a place that, frankly, is a bit of a pain to get to and to get out of, a place where you learn very quickly who you are and who you are in relation to others.
Pretty much the first thing I did when I arrived here, as well as joining St Leonard’s Choir, was figure out how to join St Salvator’s Choir. This was an absolute non-negotiable, because church music is my thing, and it is what I came here to study, too. But sadly, quite a few students had already got there before me, and the only position still available was that of alto 2.
Now you may not have guessed this from my speaking voice, but when singing, I am very much a soprano 1. I auditioned anyway, and I got in, and I spent the following months pretending to be totally comfortable singing half an octave lower than I usually do, and, shock horror, having people soaring above me, singing all the good top lines and descants.
While for me singing in this chapel was a doubly steep learning curve, choral singing in general is an incredibly useful experience to have – and it is great fun! It teaches you who you are, and who you are not. What your voice is, what it can be at a stretch, and what it really is not.
And it teaches you to accept direction. Watching your director is the only way to sing together with people who are very different from you and make a sound that is much greater than the sum of its parts.
It’s just like learning to be a student, with your own interests and quirks, yet part of an academic community.
It’s just like learning to be human, in a world that is incredibly diverse and, with the right leadership, is all the better for it.
When we had our choir T-shirts made and we each got to decide what text we wanted on the back, I chose ‘Alto one and three quarters’. I never was a proper alto 2. But – close enough.
There is a little bit of Alto one and three quarters in every one of us. There are probably some of you here who are having a hard time getting settled, not coping as well as you thought you would, wondering when these ‘friends for life’ are going to turn up that everyone said you’d make.
But even if you feel that you’ve landed on your feet, that you’ve found your home, found your tribe, found the subject or the person that excites you and makes you tick, and your life as it is right now fits you like a glove – it’s never a 100% fit.
I’d hazard a guess that all of us are an octagonal peg in a round hole at best, or an alto one and seven eighths. Let me tell you, you are not the first and you won’t be the last. You are not alone. You are OK.
If you are having a major case of imposter syndrome right now, looking at the people around you and wondering why they have got it all together so much better than you – there’s a good chance that they are thinking exactly the same.
And it was ever thus. Look at the protagonist in our first reading today, Moses. He really did not want that starring role. He tried all sorts to get out of it. But sometimes, you just happen to be the person for the job.
Moses of all people, a nervous guy with a bit of a stammer, gets put in charge of leading his entire people into a future of freedom and peace and wellbeing.
So once Moses has been dragged, kicking and screaming, into a position of leadership – surprise surprise: he has to deal with people moaning.
If you’ve ever tried to earn some extra cash in retail, in hospitality, in any place where you are providing a service to people, you know about the moaning. No matter how hard you try, people will find fault with whatever you’re doing. And they will tell you.
Moses has taken these people under his wing, has led them out of a place where they were living as slaves, doing forced labour, where they were treated as less than human; he got them out, he got them fed and watered, he kept them alive, they’re on their way to a bright future – and here come the complaints.
The nostalgia. The reminiscing about the somewhat misremembered past. ‘At least when we were an oppressed minority in a foreign country, being beaten half to death on a daily basis, we had free leeks and onions and garlic!’
Moses does what any exasperated employee would do in these circumstances: he goes to speak to the manager. He says to God, this is way above my pay grade. The buck stops with you. How is it my responsibility to deal with these entitled sods? You overpromised and underdelivered and put me in the firing line. Either you sort them out right now, or I quit.
To be fair, the manager steps up. He feeds his people, and trains his employee: ‘have you ever heard of delegation?’
I was reading a book about St Ambrose recently, where it said that after his death it took six people to make sure that all his regular duties were still being covered. Well, Moses is told to share his workload with seventy others. They will all be equipped for whatever needs doing.
You have to feel for Moses, because despite his past experiences it’s still not easy to take a step back and trust others with parts of your job.
I kind of know what that feels like. A year ago yesterday I joined what I suppose is still quite an experimental setup: a team of clergy looking after a whole lot of churches, where everyone has their own portfolio of expertise rather than their own patch.
My job title is Vicar for Liturgy and Worship, which as far as I know is a title I share with only one other person in the world, which is quite cool. But there are many things to be done in our many churches other than organising worship, and my colleagues look after those – pastoral care, schools work, admin, overall coordination, you name it.
It’s a brilliant way to allow people to do what they do best and help each other to carry the load. But equally, it means that somebody will be doing things on ‘your’ patch that they can do better than you. And it’s right that they do it, because they’re playing to their strengths. But at the same time, it can make you feel defensive and less in control.
And it can make that imposter syndrome rear its ugly head. “Who even am I, who am I in relation to the people who need me, if I admit that I have this particular set of skills, but not necessarily these as well?”
When Moses all of a sudden gains seventy colleagues, there are even two people who get the job, but can’t be bothered to turn up to the induction.
They are equipped with the same skills as their colleagues, but inspiration strikes them outside of a formal, controlled setting. They are just at home, among friends, nowhere near a place of worship, when they start exercising their leadership.
Someone quickly tells on them, and outrage ensues: this is not proper protocol. But Moses is very clear on the matter: let these people speak. We have to be ready for God
to pop up in unexpected places. In people who do things a bit differently. Inspiration strikes when it strikes. The Spirit blows where the Spirit blows.
It’s a very mature reaction coming from a leader who isn’t all that confident himself in the first place. It would have been the easiest trap to fall into, to think ‘I must stay in control here; I must assert my authority.’
But Moses understands the value of not running around putting out fires all the time; of not putting on the brakes, but allowing people to do things their way, letting them shine in the place where they feel they can make a difference.
Many, many centuries later, the people who are part of Jesus’ inner circle, his disciples, face a similar scenario. Some random person who is not part of their little group of trainees is spotted dabbling in exorcisms – and successfully too.
Now this stings, and it’s ironic, because Jesus’ disciples have only just been tasked with driving out evil spirits themselves. And the last time Jesus checked, they hadn’t managed to do it yet.
The disciples, no doubt jealous of the exorcist’s success and self-conscious about their own failure, try to stop this guy – who does he think he is? But Jesus is clear: ‘Whoever is not against us, is for us.’
It’s not whether you play by man-made rules that matters. It’s whether you live out what God has put into your heart. Uniquely into your heart. We learn to live together well when we recognise in one another a common commitment to each living out our unique vocation.
As vicar for liturgy and worship I am biased, but I do believe that worship is where we learn to live right. Very few things are as helpful and as valuable to our life as a community of individuals, and a community of communities, as what we are doing right here.
Here we are, people of different ages and nationalities, at different stages in our journey
of education and of faith, people facing physical and mental health challenges, in all our neurodiversity, people who think they can sing and people who think they can’t, people who’ve already been for a run this morning, and people who may be slightly hungover.
And we sit facing each other, able to look strangers in the eye and appreciate how special this is, and how rare, that for an hour or so, we are allowed to just be. Joyfully wasting our time on the most precious pastime there is: being together with God.
If you are sitting here looking at other people, thinking, ‘I bet they do know what they’re doing; I bet they’ve got a strong and well-informed faith and wouldn’t dream of nodding off during the sermon’ – if you are thinking that, don’t.
There is no place for imposter syndrome in worship. This is your time with God, your way; and there is no wrong way. This is where we practise living with differences – in taste, in experience, in philosophy of life; this is where we practise wholeheartedly embracing diversity.
So that when we go from here, we are ready to notice all the random places where God happens to pop up during the week; and we dare to enjoy them with confidence and humility.
Perhaps we are most authentically ourselves if we go off piste just enough to make our unique voice heard within the harmony of the choir. Perhaps the soul’s superpower is to accept direction.
To accept direction, not just from anywhere. Not from arbitrary human laws and conventions. Not from those who feel threatened by the brightness of our light. But from the source of all wisdom, who knows how to harness our individual gifts and strengths, our diversity and uniqueness.
So that the song we sing may sound all the richer, and the community we build may be all the stronger; in the name of him who is the Word and Wisdom of God, Jesus Christ our Lord.