In my previous post, I wrote about what health might look like in a Christian community, or really, in any community. Balance and integrity (striving to remain whole) are at the core of an organization’s health and the processes that promote this are the focus of attention. But what are those processes? To get at this, in his book Healthy Congregations, Peter Steinke uses the work of Edgar Jackson and Andrew Weil, and applies it to what it means for a group of people in enduring relationship with one another.
To this end, he uses principles that are often applied to the human body and sees how they might then be applied to human communities. They are the “Ten Principles of Health and Disease”, which are below. I’ll look at each in turn.
Ten Principles of Health and Disease
1. Wholeness is not attainable. (But it can be approximated.)
2. Illness is the necessary complement to health. (It is alright to be sick, feel burdened and be down.)
3. The body has innate healing abilities. (No one can give you––or the congregation––what you don’t already have.)
4. Agents of disease are not causes of disease. (All disease processes are enabled.)
5. All illness is biopsychological. (Wow! Everything is connected.)
6. The subtle precedes the gross. (Early detection is the best treatment.)
7. Every body is different. (There’s no universal treatment for every organism––or congregation)
8. A healthy circulatory system is the keystone of health and healing. (Feedback systems promote health.)
9. Breathing properly is nourishing to the whole body. (The Spirit must be active among the members the Body of Christ.)
10. The brain is the largest secreting organ of the body, the health maintenance organization (HMO) of the body. (The mind converts ideas into biochemical realities.)
1. Wholeness is not attainable.
Our bodies are never “perfectly healthy.” We are always holding something off, healing something, needing nourishment. Just as it is in our bodies, in our communities, there is always a balance at play, where illness and healing are happening. There is no completely “whole” place. We are always preparing and responding. When reading the following sentence, though, the last year or so came into clearer focus, “Both organisms and organizations are more apt to become sick after major losses, disruptive events, and prominent changes.” Moving to a three service Sunday schedule, the departures of Kristin, Sara, these have been major events and it necessarily takes time to come back to homeostasis, “the capacity of an organism to keep its internal environment steady…its cooperative behavior. Health occurs when the body’s systems run smoothly and energy flows freely.”
2. Illness is the necessary complement to health.
Using this lens, Illness actually can be important to our health, as it builds immunity. Steinke uses the analogy of a vaccine, the introduction of a weakened virus so that the body can be alerted and practice. In this way, the internal and external challenges that are faced can serve (but don’t always serve) to strengthen the resilience of a body. “Conflict is inevitable, even essential, if resistance resources are to emerge. A community may strengthen or re-examine its sense of purpose…Health is 10 percent what happens and 90 percent how we respond.” No one wishes for dis-ease, but if the body is able to respond effectively, it is able to become stronger in the process.
3. The body has innate healing abilities.
Steinke writes, “Healing is self-regeneration. It comes from the inside, not the outside…There are no quick fixes obtained from anyone or anything external.” Physicians can help the process by removing obstacles or by increasing aspects, but it is the self-healing of the body that ultimately does the work. In a way, to look solely outside of one’s self is a forfeiture of responsibility. This is as true for individuals as it is for bodies and for groups. To some degree, the response must come from within. An outside influence can help the congregation build their inner resources. When Jim Richardson spent a year at All Souls as an Interim Rector, one of his consistent messages was that, “we have all that we needed.” It is as true now as it was then. The capacity of a community to heal is always present within itself.
4. Agents of disease are not causes of disease.
This is an interesting principle to me. I would probably slightly edit it to read, ‘Agents of disease are not the sole causes of disease,’ but I do understand what Steinke means when he writes, “All pathogens need a host cell to arouse the disease process.” One micro biologist has said that the virus is like a seed that will only sprout into disease is the “soil” is too weak to resist it. In that way, “strengthening the resistance of the host cells is paramount in treatment, rather than simply focusing on disease agents and counteracting them.” What this seems to say, then, is that viruses (like the poor) will always be with us. Because we are flawed creatures these pathogens will always be in the air. The focus shouldn’t be there, then. Instead the focus should be on the soil, the response to the potentially destructive behaviors.
5. All illness is biopsychological.
This principle points to connectedness. We finally seem to be recovering an understanding that the mind and the body are fundamentally connected. (Scientific reductionism wielded an unhelpful scalpel there) Studies are now uncovering the power of the well-being of the mind (heart/spirit?) being intimately connected to the well-being of the body. Yet we continue to disconnect them at our peril. Therefore, Steinke writes, “The health of a congregation is multi-faceted. Attitudes count. Working together counts. Faithfulness matters. Mood and tone are significant.” As with human individuals, vengeance and bitterness are the two most destructive emotions to a body, while gratitude is the most nourishing. What I have found in my time spent in churches large and small on this sabbatical is that one can tell the spirit of a congregation. It pervades the space. And it matters.
6. The subtle precedes the gross.
“Short of prevention, early treatment is the best treatment…Early warnings come from small disturbances.” This is wisdom for our bodies that is ancient and contemporary. It is why Kaiser Permanente, for all of its flaws, has the potential to positively effect huge portions of the population with its emphasis on prevention. Similarly, in a community, “If a problem or conflict is allowed to fester and swell, it becomes even more embedded and resistant to management.” Being able to catch something early is critical for all parts of the system. The pain is not as great for those in the conflict, the leadership doesn’t take on as much of the stress, and the energy needed to deal with the issue isn’t diverted for longer than necessary.
7. Every body is different.
Context and culture are often determinative in what will help heal a situation. Steinke points to changes over time that make a previous intervention not helpful the next time and that, “One person’s medicine can be another person’s poison.” This is why I believe that silver bullets don’t work––but look so appealing. A process or a program at one church is so tempting to use where you are because it worked there. But it worked there because of where that body is, at that time and place. Core principles and approaches can be adapted, but because they were developed in a system different than where you are, they must be examined for the present context.
8. A healthy circulatory system is the keystone of health and healing.
In this lens, disease is seen as the result of information blockage, as in, some part of the body is not being heard, the natural sets of balances are not being allowed for. One of the ways that this is facilitated is that, “In healthy congregations information flows freely.” My sense is this is because the only way to be able to address a situation in the toe or back or elbow is if you are in communication, listening for what is happening, what needs addressing. When you ignore or don’t actively seek out information, this is when the subtle turns into the gross.
9. Breathing properly is nourishing to the whole body.
This is a simple one for our physical bodies, but like in Christian communities, is is easily and often overlooked. Steinke writes, “Full, deep expansion of the lungs brings nourishment to the whole central nervous system.” He then talks about the ruach, the Spirit over the deep, and Jesus’ breathing over the apostles as scriptural patterns of this practice. It is no mistake as well, that there are several ancient and enduring prayer practices that involve breathing. Staying attuned to the Breath is one of the simpler and often overlooked practices of the body and the larger body.
10. The brain is the largest secreting organ of the body, the health maintenance organization (HMO) of the body.
In this way of knowing the health of our bodies, “To understand health is to understand the continual role of the brain in maintaining the resistance of the body.” Steinke then makes an interesting link when he writes, “Comparable to the brain’s functioning in the body is the functioning of the leaders in the congregation.” The leadership of a community plays a vital role in the maintenance of the resistance and functioning of a congregation. A large part of the responsibility for strategy resides there, yes, but also the tone, the attitude, the sense of spirit. It is the ultimate responsibility of the leadership, then, to be able to have the conversations, to take in the information of the system, and to give out the kind of information that keeps the system moving towards wholeness.
There is a a great deal more in this treatment by Steinke that I have found very interesting: around emotional maturity, the dangers of rigidity, and why differentiated behavior is critical to well-being. More in the weeks and months to come.
Peace,
Phil+
Monday, July 20, 2015
Monday, July 13, 2015
A Healthy Body, part 1
As you may know, over the last couple of months I’ve been studying what are the kinds of practices that keep communities vital: strong, resilient, alive. Much of this has been through reading books. Some of these books have been assigned reading from the College of Congregational Development, some recommended (or handed) to me, others books that I’ve been meaning to read for some time. They range from personal reflections to systematic approaches. But all of them speak to what happens when humans gather together and attempt to follow God.
Which is actually what Jesus was doing. Some of his teachings were specific and directive about communal practices for living. Matthew 18 is an example of this, in that Jesus gives us best practices for how to deal with conflict in a community once it arises. (because whenever two or three are gathered, there will be conflict) And others of Jesus’ teachings, like about prayer or forgiveness, are interpersonal yet have tremendous influence on how a community lives.
As I wrote about in my post about Benedictine practices, Christian communities have been working on the best ways to live together since we began to organize around the life, death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. And these practices that we have developed, are developing, they are practices that can be used in any form of community––families, schools, businesses. As you read through these posts, bring to mind a community that you know well, with these understandings and principles as a lens.
The author and practitioner Peter Steinke has written a number of books over the years, but the one that I decided to spend time with was Healthy Congregations: A Systems Approach. What makes this book particularly interesting is not just that he approached common life in a “systems way”, that is, that all life is of a piece and that, “change in one part produces change in another part, even in the whole.” I’ve done a good bit of study in this way of understanding groups, but what I found especially interesting in this book is Steinke’s use of the human body and health as a metaphor.
This approach, as Steinke notes, is not original. It has been part of how humans have come to understand themselves for millennia. Jesus did this memorably when illuminating what defiles someone––what goes in the mouth or what comes out of it. St. Paul of Tarsus used the body as a metaphor extensively in his writings, especially in his first letter to the Corinthians in chapter 12, when he talks about the necessary relationship that exists in a body, like the members of our own bodies––foot, hand, eye, ear. As is often the case, when we better understand ourselves, the ways that we work, we can better understand others and the ways that we interact with those around us.
It is Steinke’s definition of health, though, that first caught my attention, for it is one that may be different than we are used to using. For Steinke, health is about having the system in balance, that the parts are working together, and that the system as a whole has integrity. It does not mean that we are free from illness. In fact in a following post, I will work with the ten principles of health in more detail and there Steinke, along with others, points to illness as a necessary complement to health. Rather, it means that when a system is in balance, our immune system does the work it needs to and that the system is able to live more closely to wholeness. Using this lens, “perfect health” looks different. Rather than a state of perfection, it is a constant and intentional process. We are always looking to the practices that sustain life in the body.
And, in a nuance that is very interesting to me, Steinke writes that, “Health is a resource for life, not the object for living.” In this understanding, it is our health and the practices that support us, that allow us to live, to really live. That is our purpose. Our health, for ourselves and for the communities that we are a part of, is a means to Life, rather than an end in and of themselves. This runs counter to much of the messaging that we absorb about health in ourselves and in our communities. Often what we are told is that our health is the end-goal. If, in fact, our health is the resource that we draw upon for full life, than this turns our perspective and ways to live. Instead of idolizing our body or someone else’s definition of a body, we are to live in ways that allow our bodies to be most alive.
What, then, might this mean for a group of people, a community founded on the life of Jesus? It seems to me that this points to consistent attention to practices that support each person’s wholeness, as well as the wholeness of the body. It will mean that the process of living, the “how” of what we do, each day and week and year, is as important, in fact likely more important than the substance of what we produce. Because the processes that we undertake fundamentally and necessarily affect all of the substance that we are.
What, then, might these processes be? That is the subject of my next post, what Steinke calls, “Ten Principles of Health and Disease.”
Peace,
Phil+
Which is actually what Jesus was doing. Some of his teachings were specific and directive about communal practices for living. Matthew 18 is an example of this, in that Jesus gives us best practices for how to deal with conflict in a community once it arises. (because whenever two or three are gathered, there will be conflict) And others of Jesus’ teachings, like about prayer or forgiveness, are interpersonal yet have tremendous influence on how a community lives.
As I wrote about in my post about Benedictine practices, Christian communities have been working on the best ways to live together since we began to organize around the life, death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. And these practices that we have developed, are developing, they are practices that can be used in any form of community––families, schools, businesses. As you read through these posts, bring to mind a community that you know well, with these understandings and principles as a lens.
The author and practitioner Peter Steinke has written a number of books over the years, but the one that I decided to spend time with was Healthy Congregations: A Systems Approach. What makes this book particularly interesting is not just that he approached common life in a “systems way”, that is, that all life is of a piece and that, “change in one part produces change in another part, even in the whole.” I’ve done a good bit of study in this way of understanding groups, but what I found especially interesting in this book is Steinke’s use of the human body and health as a metaphor.
This approach, as Steinke notes, is not original. It has been part of how humans have come to understand themselves for millennia. Jesus did this memorably when illuminating what defiles someone––what goes in the mouth or what comes out of it. St. Paul of Tarsus used the body as a metaphor extensively in his writings, especially in his first letter to the Corinthians in chapter 12, when he talks about the necessary relationship that exists in a body, like the members of our own bodies––foot, hand, eye, ear. As is often the case, when we better understand ourselves, the ways that we work, we can better understand others and the ways that we interact with those around us.
It is Steinke’s definition of health, though, that first caught my attention, for it is one that may be different than we are used to using. For Steinke, health is about having the system in balance, that the parts are working together, and that the system as a whole has integrity. It does not mean that we are free from illness. In fact in a following post, I will work with the ten principles of health in more detail and there Steinke, along with others, points to illness as a necessary complement to health. Rather, it means that when a system is in balance, our immune system does the work it needs to and that the system is able to live more closely to wholeness. Using this lens, “perfect health” looks different. Rather than a state of perfection, it is a constant and intentional process. We are always looking to the practices that sustain life in the body.
And, in a nuance that is very interesting to me, Steinke writes that, “Health is a resource for life, not the object for living.” In this understanding, it is our health and the practices that support us, that allow us to live, to really live. That is our purpose. Our health, for ourselves and for the communities that we are a part of, is a means to Life, rather than an end in and of themselves. This runs counter to much of the messaging that we absorb about health in ourselves and in our communities. Often what we are told is that our health is the end-goal. If, in fact, our health is the resource that we draw upon for full life, than this turns our perspective and ways to live. Instead of idolizing our body or someone else’s definition of a body, we are to live in ways that allow our bodies to be most alive.
What, then, might this mean for a group of people, a community founded on the life of Jesus? It seems to me that this points to consistent attention to practices that support each person’s wholeness, as well as the wholeness of the body. It will mean that the process of living, the “how” of what we do, each day and week and year, is as important, in fact likely more important than the substance of what we produce. Because the processes that we undertake fundamentally and necessarily affect all of the substance that we are.
What, then, might these processes be? That is the subject of my next post, what Steinke calls, “Ten Principles of Health and Disease.”
Peace,
Phil+
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
Time
Simply put, it is humbling to spend time in the Colorado Plateau. A geographic area that is found in the states of Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico (a state defined by the borders of the Plateau would make a lot more sense than the four corners we now have), it a geologic wonder. Created over hundreds of millions of years, it is comprised of layer upon layer of sedimentary rock. Thrust up by tectonic plate activity, these layers have been exposed over hundreds of thousands of years, chipped, carved, chasmed.
These sediments, pressed into rock, thrust up and cut away, now reveal the life and times of oceans, deserts, swamps, forests––then oceans, deserts, swamps, and forests again. When faced with a canyon wall, as in the Grand Canyon, or a hoodoo or an arch, it is a nearly overwhelming feeling to realize that the very place you are standing was once under a vast ocean, or in miles of desert, or was a swamp patrolled by the great Allosaurus.
In our hikes, we have come across 300 million year old sea sponges and shells, seen the tracks of dinosaurs, unbelievably frozen in time. This work of gathering and compressing, over millions of years is almost incomprehensible. For one, it puts the climate crisis we face into stark relief. Through the study of this terrain, it is clear that our earth’s balance can tip precipitously and disastrously. Oceans can indeed become deserts, fundamentally altering the life that exists there. Given what we already know of the mass extinctions that life on this earth has endured, it should shock us into change dramatically the ways we live that are accelerating these changes. Our actions in this next generation will likely bear fruit for centuries.
Another realization has emerged in our time here. It has to do with the dramatic changes that can only come through persistent action. One of the challenges of encountering the Grand Canyon is the vast scale that opens up before you. Miles and miles across, roughly a mile deep, it is a vastness that can’t really be comprehended, you can only somehow absorb it. With that nearly surreal scale is the remarkable manner it which it came to be. Unlike Yosemite Valley, that was formed by massive glaciers shearing the granite, the Grand Canyon is being made by persistent, everyday actions of wind, water and gravity. The water and wind has worn away the rock, frozen in its walls, fracturing it in dramatic fashion. What once was a level plateau has been very slowly and just as surely changed into a canyon that can be seen from space.
Given the scale of time, this is almost more understandable with the Grand Canyon, with the mighty Colorado River coursing through the valley. Given the runoff that feeds this river system, one can see how even boulders can be shunted downstream. But this phenomenal course of action is also the case in Zion Canyon, where the shallow and gentle Virgin River flows.
There is no way, when looking at the small Virgin River, that one would surmise that it could have carved the canyons hundreds to over a thousand feet deep. What I have realized, though, is that scale of time that we use is often quite short. Six months? A few years? A few decades? Rarely a lifetime. We humans seem to shrink our scales of perception to what we might live to see. In reality, though, it is the persistent, long-term efforts that change the course of time.
Several years ago I read an article about a Roman Catholic parish that was being shut down in the Bronx in New York. After decades of attrition, there were few parishioners in the pews and the parochial school did not draw the same number of children as it once had. After years of study, the Archdiocese decided to shut the parish down, and send those who remained to nearby congregations. For those who had been baptized, married, raised their children in this parish, this was heretical. They organized to fight this decision––it was to no avail. But it was the answer of the Archdiocesan spokesman that got my attention at the end of the story. He was asked by the reporter whether or not the Archdiocese would be selling the property, seeing as how they had just shut down the church and the school. “No,” the spokesman replied, “we think that we’ll need it in the next 300 years.”
This reflection on time has reminded me of the scale of time we should be using. Our efforts, the way we live, the witness we give to the world should not simply be on the scale of six months or three to five years or even fifty-five years. It is folly, even hubris, to think of only our own lifetimes. Our scale, understandably, is focused in such small increments. But the psalmist talks about one day for God being like a thousand years for us. What might change or shift if we were to understand that we were participating in a river that has been flowing for almost 2,000 years, that itself is fed by a stream thousands of years older?
And a river that we expect to flow for thousands more? Yes, our focus must be on what is immediately at hand, in our parish, in our neighborhood, In our city, in our diocese, This is important. Being able to see projects through for three months or for three year timelines is important.
But I have been humbled and inspired by the witness of persistence, of fluid water cutting through seemingly impenetrable rock. Drop by drop, minute by minute, millennia by millennia. It has me wondering what our persistent efforts, our continuing stance, the forces of our unrelenting love, will yield over decades, over centuries. For us as Episcopalians, Anglicans, Christians, we are fed by a Source that runs far deeper than we often allow for. As the Rt. Rev. Greg Rickel has written, “I am living in hope that we are coming to the realization that our traditions are not useless and dead, but rather mysterious and alluring to a new generation. It is not that our tradition is bad. The problem is that we don’t know it anymore.” The questions of our time, not only at All Souls, but for Christian communities around the world are these: What course are we setting ourselves to? How are we joining with the stream of billions? Are we ready to give our lives and our selves to the radical Good News of the reconciliation of Creator and created, that is right now as well as decades, centuries, millennia away?
Peace,
Phil+
These sediments, pressed into rock, thrust up and cut away, now reveal the life and times of oceans, deserts, swamps, forests––then oceans, deserts, swamps, and forests again. When faced with a canyon wall, as in the Grand Canyon, or a hoodoo or an arch, it is a nearly overwhelming feeling to realize that the very place you are standing was once under a vast ocean, or in miles of desert, or was a swamp patrolled by the great Allosaurus.
In our hikes, we have come across 300 million year old sea sponges and shells, seen the tracks of dinosaurs, unbelievably frozen in time. This work of gathering and compressing, over millions of years is almost incomprehensible. For one, it puts the climate crisis we face into stark relief. Through the study of this terrain, it is clear that our earth’s balance can tip precipitously and disastrously. Oceans can indeed become deserts, fundamentally altering the life that exists there. Given what we already know of the mass extinctions that life on this earth has endured, it should shock us into change dramatically the ways we live that are accelerating these changes. Our actions in this next generation will likely bear fruit for centuries.
Another realization has emerged in our time here. It has to do with the dramatic changes that can only come through persistent action. One of the challenges of encountering the Grand Canyon is the vast scale that opens up before you. Miles and miles across, roughly a mile deep, it is a vastness that can’t really be comprehended, you can only somehow absorb it. With that nearly surreal scale is the remarkable manner it which it came to be. Unlike Yosemite Valley, that was formed by massive glaciers shearing the granite, the Grand Canyon is being made by persistent, everyday actions of wind, water and gravity. The water and wind has worn away the rock, frozen in its walls, fracturing it in dramatic fashion. What once was a level plateau has been very slowly and just as surely changed into a canyon that can be seen from space.
Given the scale of time, this is almost more understandable with the Grand Canyon, with the mighty Colorado River coursing through the valley. Given the runoff that feeds this river system, one can see how even boulders can be shunted downstream. But this phenomenal course of action is also the case in Zion Canyon, where the shallow and gentle Virgin River flows.
There is no way, when looking at the small Virgin River, that one would surmise that it could have carved the canyons hundreds to over a thousand feet deep. What I have realized, though, is that scale of time that we use is often quite short. Six months? A few years? A few decades? Rarely a lifetime. We humans seem to shrink our scales of perception to what we might live to see. In reality, though, it is the persistent, long-term efforts that change the course of time.
Several years ago I read an article about a Roman Catholic parish that was being shut down in the Bronx in New York. After decades of attrition, there were few parishioners in the pews and the parochial school did not draw the same number of children as it once had. After years of study, the Archdiocese decided to shut the parish down, and send those who remained to nearby congregations. For those who had been baptized, married, raised their children in this parish, this was heretical. They organized to fight this decision––it was to no avail. But it was the answer of the Archdiocesan spokesman that got my attention at the end of the story. He was asked by the reporter whether or not the Archdiocese would be selling the property, seeing as how they had just shut down the church and the school. “No,” the spokesman replied, “we think that we’ll need it in the next 300 years.”
This reflection on time has reminded me of the scale of time we should be using. Our efforts, the way we live, the witness we give to the world should not simply be on the scale of six months or three to five years or even fifty-five years. It is folly, even hubris, to think of only our own lifetimes. Our scale, understandably, is focused in such small increments. But the psalmist talks about one day for God being like a thousand years for us. What might change or shift if we were to understand that we were participating in a river that has been flowing for almost 2,000 years, that itself is fed by a stream thousands of years older?
But I have been humbled and inspired by the witness of persistence, of fluid water cutting through seemingly impenetrable rock. Drop by drop, minute by minute, millennia by millennia. It has me wondering what our persistent efforts, our continuing stance, the forces of our unrelenting love, will yield over decades, over centuries. For us as Episcopalians, Anglicans, Christians, we are fed by a Source that runs far deeper than we often allow for. As the Rt. Rev. Greg Rickel has written, “I am living in hope that we are coming to the realization that our traditions are not useless and dead, but rather mysterious and alluring to a new generation. It is not that our tradition is bad. The problem is that we don’t know it anymore.” The questions of our time, not only at All Souls, but for Christian communities around the world are these: What course are we setting ourselves to? How are we joining with the stream of billions? Are we ready to give our lives and our selves to the radical Good News of the reconciliation of Creator and created, that is right now as well as decades, centuries, millennia away?
Peace,
Phil+
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