And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.  ~ Anaïs Nin

This is my ninth blog post as your DLRE, and it’s the first I’ve really struggled with. Though I’ve returned again and again to this month’s theme of Creativity, I have wrestled with even remembering any of my initial ideas about writing on the subject. It would not be unlike me to have several false starts in a piece of writing like this, but to have to goad myself into starting at all, well – that’s unlike me.  There’s a lot going on in my head, and it’s pretty interesting – at least to me — but to be honest, I’m not at all sure what of it, if any, I want to share with all of you. The truth is, creativity is an uncomfortable topic for me. It’s adjacent to some old hurt places that I’m not sure I’m ready to share anywhere, let alone at the place where I work.

Figuring out where that professional boundary lies is part of my struggle, I think. That boundary is different, of course, for a religious educator than for a university professor (my previous work). It’s also something you and I negotiate together, both individually and collectively. Creativity entails risk, and how much I risk with you depends on how much I trust you – and trust is something that builds slowly, over time. A few times now in the time that I’ve been with this congregation, for example, I’ve wept a bit in front of you: once during the story for all ages about Harvey Milk and the time before the SCOTUS Bashear decision; again during the gift-giving at Bret’s farewell party; and yet again this past Sunday during the bridging ceremony for our graduating seniors. In each of these cases, I knew I was likely to cry – a little or a lot – in sharing some vulnerable part of me with you, and I decided to risk it. This is a thing that’s hard for me to trust you with – because it’s uncomfortable for me, and because I know it’s uncomfortable for some number of you. I don’t really like to make you uncomfortable – because I’m a caring person, and also, I work for you. It can be a challenge to discern what’s in my own best interests, and yours. It’s especially important for me to be careful with the little ones. They should never have to worry about me, an adult whose care of them is my job. And I know every one of you carries a little one inside of you, for whom I also need to take care.

Still, I also know that navigating this path of vulnerability and trust is just the road I travel now. This is ministry. Creativity entails risk, and you and I together create this church. We don’t have to do it all – others have come before us, and much has already been done for us. Still, we must do our part in creating it and recreating it, day in and day out. And that means we must risk sharing ourselves with one another. Michigan State’s Intercultural Dialogues program offers a visual model for this negotiated territory of calculated, negotiated risks. They call it the learning zone. According to their model, while we may love to be in our comfort zone, we don’t do much learning there. Of course, being in places where there is some actual danger to our well being is also not good for learning. But there is a zone between – where we may be uncomfortable, stretched, but also excited, engaged, opened to new ideas, other people’s and our own – that’s truly optimal for learning. I shared this model several times with my group during our Beloved Conversations series, and I think it’s especially helpful for when we’re learning across cultures. But in another sense, we are always learning across cultures. Your comfort zone, your danger zone, your optimal learning zone are all different from mine, and for different sets of reasons. If we are working together, learning together, ministering together, creating this church together, we are navigating boundaries, limits, and risk.

It’s been just a year now since I first stepped foot inside of UCE, and a big nine months since I came on board as your DLRE. I’ve learned a lot in the arc of this church year – about this job, this congregation, and our shared ministry. I’m grateful for your patience with me, as I’ve had a lot to learn. I hope you’ve been learning about me, too: that I’m a bit messy and not naturally organized, but that I’m honest about my flaws, and I work hard to address them, and to learn what I don’t yet understand, and that I care deeply about this work we do together. I hope that you’ve had the opportunity to see me learning, as I have benefited from watching you learn. As we contemplate what we’ve undertaken in the year now passing, and think about what we will build together in the coming year, let us each do our best to trust one another, and to risk learning together. When we falter or trangress, when we fail one another, let us reconcile, rebuild trust, and begin again. Our shared ministry here is too important for us not to. Again and again, let us risk together its creation.

© May 17, 2018