What am I to do? I will pray with my spirit, but I will pray with my mind also; I will sing praise with my spirit, but I will sing with my mind also.

The Apostle Paul (1 Corinthians 14:15)

What if we said the same thing about leadership? “I will lead with my mind, but I will lead with my spirit also.”

In my experience of church leadership, observing both my own inner dynamics and in working alongside dozens of other leaders, I have seen this tension. There is a spectrum that we all move along. Some leaders tend to stick firmly towards one end or the other. Some are chronic over-thinkers, astute and business-minded, evaluating their ministry with SWOT analyses and strategizing their next steps. Some leaders tend to over-spiritualize everything, living in the heat of the moment, moving forward with little fore-planning and calling it being Spirit-led, conflagrating their whims and moods with discernment.

And yes: by “some leaders,” I mean “me.” The struggle is real. We are complicated and nuanced creatures.

The mind and the spirit are not opposed to one another. At their best, they complement each other as each potential question or decision exists along a continuum between the two.

The trick comes in having the wisdom to know to lean more on the mind or the spirit. It is quite tempting to run to one extreme or the other. (And, quite, frankly, easier and faster). Some decisions that are very practical and logical are over-spiritualized, and others that are more mystical in nature are over-systematized or over-debated. Some things are best approached as a “spiritual” decision while others as a “thoughtful/logical” decision.

Most decisions require a delicate blend of both. Good leaders welcome this tension.

Just say it.

Say it at the right time.

Say it in the right medium.

Say it to the right people.

Say it within the right time frame. Not everything needs to be a novel. It might need to be an essay, or a blog post, or a tweet, or a bumper sticker. Know the difference.

In saying that the kingdom comes like a mustard seed, or like yeast, Jesus is gently and somewhat indirectly inviting us to rest in the act that God works even through death. Not in spite of death, but with and through death.

As Jesus himself points out elsewhere, the only way a seed can fulfill it’s purpose is by dying. By being literally buried underground, then breaking apart and decomposing into the earth. A seed’s full seed-ness is reached in it’s death.

In the same way, yeast completely disappears when it is mixed—or, perhaps better, “buried”—into the flour. Not only that, but it gives its life during the baking process. It suffers under a heat which it cannot survive, yet which also solidifies the tiny pockets of air it has created in the risen dough. Yeast’s full yeast-ness is reached in its death.

In the parables of the Mustard Seed and the Yeast, one not-named but ever-present element is an invisible one: Breath. That is—speaking literally in terms of the parables—carbon dioxide.

The air that we breathe out is the air that plants “breathe in.” Once the seed has begun to take root, and the first tiny little shot of green peeks through the soil, the plant begins to take in carbon dioxide. That—mixed, of course, with water, sunlight, and other nutrients from the soil—is what keeps the plant alive. Makes it grow. Enables it to eventually bear fruit.

In the baking process, the way that yeast causes the dough to rise is by producing carbon dioxide. That’s what the tiny bubbles are filled with in the early stages of activating the yeast. What the yeast “breathes out,” simply because it is alive and active, gets trapped in the gluten that was formed during the kneading. And thus the loaf lifts.

If you don’t know what the target is. 

In leadership, it’s easy to become disappointed in those lead for failing to perform well. But it’s quite possible that the leader has created the right conditions for disappointment.

Did we clearly express expectations up front? Did our people know the rubric they would be graded on? Did we involve our team in that process so that they had input and ownership and understanding? 

Is not in itself a clear indication of calling. To bake that cake you need a lot more ingredients than just heat.

Innate gifts and learned skills. Perseverance and grit. Passion and patience. Love and compassion for others. Love and compassion for yourself. Humility and experience. Trial and error. Risk and planning. People who will give you their thumbs up and lay their hands on you in blessing.

A burning heart may indicate something that excites your imagination, but that doesn’t automatically translate into reality.

Yet a burning heart is crucial, make no mistake. Without that flame, there will forever be just raw cake batter. Keep that fire burning as consistently as you can for the long haul while you stay busy with the hands-on, real-world business of turning your dreams into goals.

Is never really the end of the story.

In part because the story has not yet been fully told. Other scenes have been left out for sake of time and will be recounted. Deep memories will surface. Forgotten side-characters will be brought back into view. New connections will be made between old details. New meaning will be found in old tales.

Also because life goes on. Creation has a way of propelling itself forward. New things will happen. New characters will step onto the stage. New challenges will be faced. New adventures will be embarked upon. New laughter and joy will be heard. New tales will build on the foundation of old tales.

Keep listening. Keep sharing. Keep writing. Keep living

Are the final words of Jesus in John’s gospel. Consider them in reverse:

Me. Everything centers around Jesus. And anything that does not clearly center around Jesus, whether in our individual lives or in the world around us, is an opportunity for a little recalibration.

Follow. Not admire, not respect, not quote. Not even more religious sounding words like worship, or pray to, or obey. Not even other intimate options like trust, or accept, or love. No, the final invitation—perhaps the ultimate invitation—is to follow. Wherever he goes, by whatever means he travels, however long it takes to get there, and whatever he does once he arrives.

Is a thief. Yes, of joy, as the saying goes, but even more…

Comparison is a thief of presence. It requires time and energy that could be otherwise spent living. It lulls you into a day-dream-like state. It pulls you out of reality. It prevents you from living in the only time and place you have been given to live—here and now.

Comparison is a thief of identity. The more you gaze upon the beauty of another, the less you can appreciate your own beauty. The more you pine after the accomplishments of another, the less you can be proud of your own accomplishments. The more you wish you were someone else, the less yourself you become.

Comparison is a thief of calling. It tempts you to replace your gifts, passions, and strengths with those of someone else. It tempts you to rewrite your story in someone else’s handwriting. It tempts you to give your gift to the world wrapped in someone else’s skin.

All of which, I suppose, amounts to a lot of joyless living.

When you’re young, it’s quite easy to believe that life is in your hands. That you determine your destiny. That you choose your life’s path. After all, every day you get up, dress yourself, and head out into the world on your own two feet, with all your ambitions and passions and goals and dreams. You know where you’re headed, and you know how to get there.

Which is good. Part of being young is using that gift of enthusiastic energy to make yourself.

But then, as you get older, you begin to understand that life is also something that comes to you. Not something that you control. Life is what is handed to you, not what you chose from all of the myriad of options on the cosmic shopping store shelf. All of life is a gift, which requires humble and grateful acceptance rather than success-driven strong-arming.