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Now that
Christian Laettner (great name) and Jerome Williams (another
great name) have begun to corral some offensive rebounds,
nobody misses Dennis Rodman. Dennis was a loose cannon when
he played here. And, given his fondness for driving around
in his pickup with a long gun riding shotgun, Dennis may have
carried a loose cannon when he played here. But he doesn't
play anywhere, anymore. Just when he should be at the top
of his game, nobody wants him ... not the Bulls ... not the
Suns ... not the Mavs ... not even Madonna or Carmen Electra.
What's more, he is running out of skin to tattoo. And he's
only 33.
The only
man who was able to employ him and understand him was Chuck
Daly. Remember Chuck? Remember when? Following a stretch of
games in which Rodman wasn't quite up to snuff, Daly was asked:
"What's wrong with Dennis?" To which Daly answered:
"Dennis is thinking too much out there. So I've started
telling him (every time he comes off the floor), `Dennis ...
don't think, just play.'" Which worked. Far too well.
For how was Chuck to know that those were the last four words
of advice Dennis Rodman would ever hear ... or heed?
Today,
most coaches will tell you that while it's wonderful to have
muscled athletes, the only sure way to victory is to have
smart athletes ... with the brain being the most overlooked
muscle in the guide to athletic success. At the end of the
season, who wins? I'll tell you who wins. Teams that play
hard ... and smart. That's who wins.
Which
is so in life, don't you know. Never underestimate "smarts"
... either professionally or spiritually. I have always believed
that the mind is a gift ... the intellect, a tool ... thinking,
one means of serving ... and brilliance, one sure way of brightening
the corner where you are. While there are some things about
the Christian faith that may be simple, let us never (as a
church or as individual believers) sing the praise of simpletonism.
Which is a message that should play here, given that (as a
congregation) you people are about as mentally well-endowed
as they come.
But which
also makes you highly susceptible to a virus. Not unlike a
flu virus ... or a computer virus ... this virus attacks smart
people, causing them to do dumb things, to the point of screwing
up royally ... and (occasionally) catastrophically. Or as
one very bright lad once confessed in my hearing: "I
don't make mistakes often. But when I do, it's a doozy."
I don't know if there are precise measurements for the word
"doozy." But, as they say in the marketplace, the
word computes. Meaning that you can be too smart for your
own good ... or anybody else's good (for that matter). Your
success can be sabotaged ... not necessarily by circumstances
(like ill winds, hard times, or bear markets) ... not necessarily
by rivals (like your competitive co-worker, your conniving
brother-in-law, or crazy Carlos in cost accounting) ... but
by your own intellect.
If that
sounds like a book promo, it is. The book's title: Why
Smart People Do Dumb Things. The book's authors: Mortimer
Feinberg and John Tarrant. Collectively, they have studied
history, read literature (including biblical literature) and
interviewed hundreds of corporate types in an effort to understand
"boardroom breakdown" (meaning the mega-mistakes
made by highly-regarded leaders of business and private life).
They make
an impressive case. They compile an impressive list. They
write an impressive manuscript. And they suggest some impressive
strategies. Little of which I will repeat here. For this is
not a workshop ... I am not a consultant ... and you have
not signed up to be clients.
I happened
on the book, not through my colleagues who are clergy, but
through Kristine who is a consultant ... to Ford ... in corporate
training ... where Feinberg and Tarrant have appeared in person.
They were invited to help "Ford types" debug the
virus, or at least inoculate themselves against it. It is
interesting that Ford felt a need to do this ... either because
of logs they saw in their own eyes, or sticks they saw in
GM and Chrysler eyes.
As if
to whet the reader's appetite, the authors begin by describing
...
- A sharp,
intuitive investor who loses a fortune by taking a position
... not because he really believes in the deal ... but because
he does not want to look like a wimp.
- A fast
rising manager who blows a big promotion by insisting that
her contract include a "perk" she neither needs
nor wants.
- An
entrepreneur who, when confronted by a choice among merger
partners, makes the worst-possible choice, wrecking his
beloved company (which was also his daddy's company) and
ending the jobs of hundreds of loyal employees.
- A respected
(and utterly unprejudiced) community leader who blurts out
a story in a town meeting that makes her sound like a racist,
blemishing her reputation and ending her career of public
service.
- A gentle
and perceptive man who, though genuinely in love with his
wife, humiliates and debases her before an embarrassed gathering
of close friends.
- A newly-elected
ecclesiastical leader who, in picking her team, skips over
multi-talented people who could truly help her, in favor
of a weak and lackluster group that virtually ensures her
failure.
And that
casual listing does not begin to cover political miscalculations,
public relations fiascoes, military blunders, and sexual dalliances
that measure 9.5 on the Richter Scale of Stupidity ... thus
costing lives, careers, fortunes and families, before the
dust settles or the meltdown fizzles (choose your metaphor).
In the
church business ... the only business I know as an insider
... I have seen it over and over again. The good ones often
fall faster and farther than their compatriots (who come to
the ministry with lower promise and less equipment). Obviously,
I will not name them ... lest, in doing so, I join them. But
they are there. And if those of us who are insiders start
telling stories, we will quickly discover that we are telling
the same stories. Which, if they weren't true, would be less
sad. But they are true. And they are sad.
So, what
does happen to smart people? Self sabotage, for one thing.
A lot of people commit career suicide. Sometimes intentional.
More often, unconscious. Whatever their level of achievement,
they don't believe they deserve what they have. They don't
believe they belong where they are. Or they don't believe
they should have climbed the heights to which they have ascended.
They feel like great pretenders ... or clever imposters. So
they implode ... self destruct ... or find some less-than-graceful
way to knock themselves off the mountain.
In my
business, I think of the clergy colleague who had it working
in spades. He had gifts. He had graces. He had promotions.
He had followings. And he had brains ... which, unfortunately,
he chose to wear in his shorts. For there were rumblings.
Softer, first. Louder, later. Rumblings of relationships less
than kosher and passions less than pure. And when the rumblings
became accusations ... leading to confessions ... leading
to ecclesiastical actions ... he was gone. And, unfortunately,
forgotten.
But in
talking about his situation, he did not talk about the lure
of her flesh, the weakness of his flesh, or the mediocrity
of his marriage. No, he talked about the anguish over his
calling as a clergyman. He felt like someone going through
the motions ... although, as his congregation would have testified,
he was very good at "motions." But his heart wasn't
in it. So his mind wasn't on it. Something in him wanted out
of the ministry in the worst way. Which is what happened,
don't you see. He got out of the ministry in the worst way.
But as
a counterpoint to the insecure and self-destructive ones,
there are a hundred variations on the omnipotent and over-reaching
ones. Some of whom are closet narcissists. Having deluded
themselves into thinking they have come this way, largely
by themselves, they begin thinking they do not need anybody
... do not want anybody ... feel no need to consult anybody
... and lose no sleep over the effects of their actions on
anybody. Dipping way back in my memory, I recall a character
in Herb Gardner's marvelous play, A Thousand Clowns,
saying to his brother: "In this world, Murray, people
get spilled on. But I have developed a talent. I choose not
to notice the stains."
Eventually,
however, narcissists disconnect. They isolate themselves from
people who can help them (and speak "truth" to them)
... while surrounding themselves with people who agree with
them (because they owe their lives to them). There is also
some evidence that highly intelligent people "disconnect"
out of childhood resentment. They remember that, as children,
brightness was not something to display, but something to
hide. And now that they no longer have to hide it, they discover
that they have never learned the skill (or the joy) in sharing
it with anybody. Having risen above "them" ... it
is easy to say: "Who needs them?"
But omnipotence
is also a product of arrogance. The arrogant ones are those
who begin to think and act in God-like proportions. Having
succeeded, they think they will always succeed. Having arrived,
they are certain it is of their own doing. Having found ways
of doing things that work, they question whether anybody else's
ways can ... work, that is. They've done it. They deserve
it. And they are entitled to everything that goes with it.
Including
moral exemptions. Such people know there are rules. But they
see themselves as numbered with the people who make them,
rather than the people who are bound by them. Which is why
the rules do not apply in their case. Not because they are
immoral ... or amoral. But because morality is a playing field
that lies below their feet ... where other people walk. In
most cases, they agree with every rule they break. They speak
in defense of every line they cross. But they do not recognize
limits and boundaries that apply to others. Which, early on,
makes them exciting, creative and charismatic. But which,
later on, makes them delusional.
You want
biblical examples? I'll give you biblical examples. Look at
virtually every king of Israel. Then go back for a longer
look at David ... and what Feinberg and Tarrant call "the
Bathsheba Complex." Then look at Eve and ask: "Why
was the apple attractive?" Because it was red ... yes.
Ripe ... yes. Forbidden ... yes. Filled with vitamins of wisdom
... yes. But more than that, because eating would put Eve's
knowledge of things on a par with God's knowledge of things
... ah, yes. Arrogance? Of course. Folly? You betcha.
Which
brings me to George Roche III ... about whom (as I got into
this sermon) I decided to say less, not more. George has served
as president of Hillsdale College since 1971. Admirably so.
He took its endowment from $4 million (pocket money) to $172
million (serious money). He stabilized the student body. He
created a national reputation by declaring that Hillsdale
would no longer accept "even one dime" of government
money (including scholarship money), given his fear of any
strings that might come with it. He created a journal that
was nationally known. And he arranged seminars that were nationally
attended. What's more, he invited the brightest and the best
to lecture ... to teach ... to write. He even augmented the
Board of Trustees with a pair of sweet Williams ... Bennett
and Buckley. And he never tired of trumpeting the slogan:
"We are proving that integrity, values and courage can
still triumph in a corrupt world. Hillsdale College is a monument
to those beliefs."
Which
it probably is. And which George III (to this day) probably
believes. Although, for many of those years, George was telling
one story with his lips and another with his life. A quartet
of facts are clear. He is gone ... now. Divorced ... now.
Estranged from his son (George IV) ... now. His daughter-in-law,
Lissa, is dead ... now.
Underneath
the facts swirl the stories. Of a nineteen year affair with
his daughter-in-law. Of a showdown with his son, where Lissa
revealed the affair ... revealed her plans to take her life
... and then did ... on campus ... in a drama that makes "Who's
Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" read like a fairy tale.
I've met
George ... heard George ... read George ... admired George
... even though I didn't always agree with George. But never
once, in collegiate governance circles, did I underestimate
George. He was the brightest fish in his pond. He was the
brightest light in his galaxy. But, with apologies to Jim
Carrey, his choices were dumb and dumber. Shocking? Sure.
Surprising? Not entirely.
Are such
things inevitable? Of course they're not inevitable. But they
happen. I mean, Ford wouldn't have brought Feinberg and Tarrant
to Dearborn if they didn't think there was cause to worry.
Their goal in doing so was prevention. And Feinberg and Tarrant
have a lot to say about prevention. They offer warning signs,
checklists, coping mechanisms, that sort of thing. I don't
need to detail them. If you are interested, you can read them.
Instead,
I would close with a pair of biblical words ... "humility"
and "grace." Let's start with humility.
Let
not the wise ones glory in their wisdom ... let not the
rich ones glory in their wealth ... let not the mighty ones
glory in their might ... but let those who glory, glory
in this ... that they understand and know me, says the Lord.
And how
does one really understand anything? Well, I told you a few
weeks back. But I have a feeling that, in the Christmas rush,
it slipped by you. One understands by standing under. It's
a positioning thing, don't you see. "Under God"
is what I'm talking about. Because, in the last analysis,
you cannot be what you are beneath. Which puts you in your
place, more or less. But when you are "put in your place,"
it's amazing how many other things fall into place. More or
less.
Humility
first. Grace second. I have known a lot of people who have
done dumb things. Some of them, really dumb things. And, to
a person, there is a phrase that always surfaces in the retelling
of their undoing. "I had it all (they say), and I threw
it all away." Well, maybe so. Most likely, so. But I
have noticed that the throwing motion (by which life and its
treasures are tossed here and there ... hither and yon ...
to the winds ... over the falls ... down the tubes) leaves
the arms strangely outstretched, and the hands uncharacteristically
open. Which, as a posture, is uniquely useful for catching
something. Like a line. Or a hand. From a friend. Or the Lord.
And, if
I remember correctly, I was told that there were two rules
that govern the art of catching. I was told to look it all
the way into my hands. And I was told to cradle it all the
way into my body. Or, as my friend said (the one whose brains
were in his shorts): "Whatever else I lost ... and I
lost plenty ... I found the love I had preached but never
really known ... until the day the Bishop said I could no
longer preach it to others, which was the day I claimed it
for myself."
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