inspiral blog

This week we saw inspiral at its best. Last weekend, one of our members admitted he was going through a pretty rough patch, and that he didn’t know what to do about it. Immediately, the idea of the Quaker Clearness Committee came to mind for me, so I suggested it, and he jumped at the chance.

And so this week we did it. Five of us sat in a circle with him and dedicated the time to bringing to Light whatever he needed to know.

The clearness committee operates like this: Most of the time when we have problems to solve in life, we have two choices: either to keep it to ourselves and try to work it out, or to share it with our friends or family and have them help. If we keep it to ourselves, we often find that clearness is difficult because it is obscured by our own inner turmoil or subjectivity. If we ask family or friends for help, we run the risk of having them control or manipulate our decisions. This process is intended to alleviate both of those potential difficulties, enabling the person to come to clearness using the objectivity of their trusted friends, coupled with their own ability to know their situation.

The rules of the clearness committee are not complex, but they are difficult. Put simply, committee members can only ask questions. No statements, no advice; just questions. You’d be surprised how difficult this is to do.

We began with silence, to create an open space for him, and to allow ourselves time to quieten enough to listen well. He was then invited (when ready) to give a brief explanation of the issues he was facing, after which questions would begin. They came thoughtfully, and in a relaxed but earnest manner.

I found, however, that about three quarters through the process, I was becoming extremely frustrated. Nothing was becoming clear here. The whole purpose of the questions was to narrow down a direction in which to pursue further questioning, which would hopefully bring what is obscured to light; but every direction we pursued came up empty. I was beginning to despair of the process I had put so much faith in, thinking that it was stupid to have suggested it in the first place. I had wasted everyone’s time and hopes.

But then we came to the mirroring phase. This point, about 20-30 minutes from the end, means that questioning is suspended and the committee is invited to mirror what they have ben hearing. “Mirroring” means simply reflecting back the focus person’s own words and moods to see if he or she recognizes the image, instead of saying what you think they should do. After each mirroring, the person is invited to respond.

It was at this point that the whole thing began to coalesce, and some significant points of unity emerged, not only for us, but for him as well. While we didn’t exactly go to the rock-bottom depths, or resolve the problem completely, we did come away with some clear directions to pursue. It was amazing. It had worked.

What’s more, what had been created was a safe, open space for one of our members to share his inmost desires and feelings. He said afterwards that he never felt vulnerable at all, which was testament to the gentleness and respect with which he was treated, because this is an incredibly vulnerable position in which to put yourself.

We had served him well, and I couldn’t have been more pleased. I don’t just mean that the outcome was good, and therefore it was worthwhile; I mean that we had selflessly invested a significant time in him and his personal growth and wellbeing. And that felt wonderful, because that is what a community like this is supposed to do, and to be for each other.

Dinner, then, was a celebration; not only of what we had just done, but of the journey of the last year in getting to this point. We’re not there (wherever “there” is), by any stretch of the imagination, and goodness knows there are frequently weeks where I despair. But this night made them all worthwhile. And I’ll hang onto that next time it’s all feeling hopeless.

More on The Practice of Peace.

In a chapter entitled ‘Strategy for Peace’, Owen begins with three caveats: never work harder than you have to (there’s plenty to be done, so save your energy for where it’s needed), don’t fix what ain’t broke (recognise and understand what is naturally present before trying to fix it), and never delude yourself into thinking you are in control. It’s this last one I want to talk about for a minute, because it’s something that I’ve been coming to terms with for a while now.

This last caveat is without doubt the most critical, difficult, and under some circumstances, painful. There is something in all of us that desperately wants to be in charge, particularly when things become chaotic, confusing and conflicted. When life seemingly runs out of control we feel the irresistible compulsion to set it right, restore order, and become once again the captain of our souls and master of our destiny. It is a lovely idea, but fatally flawed – for life is not out of control, it is just being life. And life was not created for our personal pleasure and comfort. Storms come, rivers flood, volcanos pop, businesses go kaput, and people die. All very much part of the natural order of things – no matter how much we might wish it differently. Adding insult to injury, the whole affair is so complex, fast moving, and powerful that we would be lucky to comprehend what is transpiring, let alone set everything right in a fashion that suits our sense of order. Won’t happen, so don’t even think about going there.

For the Peacemaker, this is a special challenge. By definition, we place ourselves in situations that are filled with pain and suffering, mental if not physical, and usually both. Common humanity would seem to dictate that we make every effort to mitigate the unpleasantness, relieve the suffering, banish the pain, especially if we can clearly see the source, and have the fix in mind. But that is not our job. To us it is given to stand as a witness, holding it all in our consciousness, including the suffering and the pain. There is no fix that we can devise that will set the situation right, no detailed program that will bring the people to the point they need to be, no new technology that will provide the magic button. And even if, by some lucky happenstance, such a panacea did come to our minds, it is not for us to do. Ours is a very different task, relating not so much to doing as being. Our function is to hold the space open so that the organization, or people with whom we work, can do what only it (or they) can do – be fully themselves, as a living, self-organizing system. Ultimately, they, and they alone will heal themselves and find that wholeness, health, and harmony – which is Peace. Or not…and this is the truly hard part…for it may be that the end has come.

All of which sounds terribly fatalistic, but it’s not at all – in fact, it means being more fully present than a control mindset requires. I would also want to add in there that the tendency to move towards healing and wholeness is not a human-driven act, but a movement of God in the world. But much of the gist is the same – peace is not something you cause to happen through your omniscient knowledge of the world, but something God is making happen, and all you can do is create/open the space, making sure the conditions are right for it to happen.

Note that this letting go is both an act of peace in itself, and also simultaneously gives rise to a whole range of anxieties. What if it doesn’t work? What if things go pear-shaped? If I’m not in control, who or what is, and are they moving things the “right” way? This is where trust – or perhaps faith – finds a voice. And it seems to me that for people who profess to have faith in God, Christians are not terribly good at letting go of control.

In fact, in my experience, Christians are some of the most controlling people around. Whether it’s defining who’s in and who’s out (of the church, or of what a Christian is, etc), what is taught or how, who does the teaching – it’s all about controlling. And I’m not saying some of that isn’t appropriate – there need to be guiding principles that form conditions conducive to faith – but most of it is about achieving linearly causative outcomes, leaving no room for mystery or genuine encounter.

This is, at least partly, my objection to Alpha-type programs. It’s about control – quality control, content control, outcome control – and I’m not sure that’s conducive of genuine faith. More than that: I think it mitigates against it. And what I’ve just realised is that what I’m trying to do with inspiral is exactly this kind of thing (even before I came across Owen) – not to control the outcome, but to create the conditions under which faith might arise in people – trusting God to make the outcome happen. And that’s confusing, and chaotic, and sometimes causes conflict. Probably also there’s an extent to which I don’t do it very well too, which makes it less effective than it could be. But there it is. I am a theological optimist. Who knew? What’s more, I’m becoming more comfortable with less control. Amazing.

So it’s peace as the means, and peace as the ends. Circles within circles. Things make more sense to me as the weeks and months go on. Thanks be to you, O God, for your infinite mercy.

I’m reading a book by Harrison Owen (inventor of Open Space Technology) at the moment, called The Practice of Peace. It’s essentially an optimistic book about how, when allowed enough space, human societies can tend towards peace. Not in the sense of an absence of conflict or confusion, but nonetheless a real contentment with one another. In fact, there are three conditions he says are usually considered the enemies of peace that he believes are unfairly maligned: chaos, confusion and conflict.

Firstly, chaos. Much of his theory is based in the idea of self-organizing systems, something that scientists are still coming to grips with, but which has barely entered onto the radar of most of society. Put simply, quantum physics has recognized that order does not emerge from linear causation, but from chaos. This, it seems, is how the world works: the most genuine, lasting, positive changes in direction come out of chaos. And what is more, nature tends towards self-organisation, but only where chaos is allowed freedom to move.

Secondly, confusion. This is the intellectual equivalent of chaos: there is nothing in our field of vision that can make sense of what’s happening. But confusion breaks paradigms. The plans we had set have been dissolved in the acid of life; a good thing, because they were clearly faulty in some way, and need to be re-aligned. “The map is not the territory”, as the saying goes, and it is only when we conflate the two that our plans are frustrated. Out of confusion, therefore, can come a new understanding, one more in tune with reality.

Thirdly, conflict. If anything is usually considered the enemy of peace, it’s conflict. But Owen argues that wherever there is conflict, there is real passion and devotion to an idea, and that’s a good thing. “Conflict only becomes a problem,” he argues, “when people run out of space.” The solution, therefore, is merely to open the space to allow conflict to be resolved – usually for the betterment of the situation. Indeed, conflict is often the pointy end of change, of improvement; the flash point of progress. Without it, the journey towards wholeness, health and harmony would be much more difficult, if not impossible.

In fact, Owen argues that a world without chaos, confusion and conflict is a world without change, and that’s not a world worth living in. Who wants a static, endlessly-the-same life?

This has been a bit of a revelation for me. I mean, like everyone else I like to think that I know what peace is, even if it’s difficult to articulate. And I’m not saying I can uncritically swallow everything Owen says, but what he’s found here is clearly a practice of peace; and that can only be a good thing.

Julie, Chelsea and I arrived at the house at around 5:30 on Friday, Tara around 8, then Meryl and Croz around 9, then Anthony at 11:30 or so. We did have time to do a 200 piece puzzle together in just an hour. By that stage it was time to hit the sack and get ready for the next day.

Saturday saw a late start (around 10:30am I think) where we basically did the Open Space opening ceremony (results can be found here). By the time that was finished, it was time to make lunch (vegetable soup, a group effort) and eat it. Some of the group also rewrote part of the Moses story for Melbourne in 2006, and did a sensational job.

After lunch, Meryl convened the first session while Chelsea (and Julie) had a sleep. We went to Gunnamatta beach where we were invited to reflect on good things about ourselves. After sharing them, we jumped off the dune we were sitting on, which inspired the next half hour’s activities. It’s amazing how scary it is, even when you know you’re landing on soft sand and therefore not going to hurt yourself.

Then we made a sand sculpture (picture below) and headed back to the ranch.

Dinner was fish and chips (eventually) after Anthony and I had some adventures buying, then returning, then buying again some Dot 4 (not Dot 3) brake fluid. Anthony now has a friend for life in the chick at the service station.

We spent that evening swapping stories (most embarrassing moment, thing you’re most passionate about, time you felt most out of control, etc) and then sang some songs before heading to bed.

Sunday morning saw Sam and Matt join us as we headed to Sorrento for a coffee and a walk along the beach. Julie convened a time to tell each other how we were going and what we would like prayer for. Then back to the house for lunch and closing ceremony before heading home.

Highlights:

Jumping off the sand dunes: Oh so much fun.

The cock and bull story: After taking too long to get dinner (fish and chips) Anthony suggested he and I make up a ‘cock and bull’ story to explain our absence. I agreed, so long as the story involved both a cock and a bull. For some reason on our return no one questioned why there was a cock fight at the service station, let alone a rodeo (with bullriding) on the foreshore. They say it was because they were too hungry to care, but we think we were pretty convincing (apparently they put barbed wire around the chickens’ ankles).

Story time Saturday night: The winner of this has to be Anthony’s most embarrassing moment.

Sharing time Sunday morning at a Sorrento cafe with Matt and Sam.

Anyone else care to mention their highlights?

We used Open Space for our weekend away, and I think it worked really well. I’d be interested in hearing how others found it too, but I think it’s something we’ll use more often as a principle underpinning our community.

We started Saturday morning with the opening ceremony, including the four principles and one law of Open Space, and then everyone went to work creating the agenda for our weekend. The four principles are:

1. Whoever comes are the right people: Put simply, this principle means that the right people will always be present for an event like this. People don’t turn up unless there’s some interest there for them, and that needs to be honoured. Interestingly, on the Monday before the weekend, we were ready to cancel the whole thing for lack of numbers. After a conversation with Anthony, we decided to have it anyway, only to have that conversation reinforced by this first principle of Open Space, and then the weekend itself. Seriously, how much we would’ve missed out on if we’d cancelled.
2. Whatever happens is the only thing that could have: This is the only time that this group of people will be together in this form, at this time, in this place. This principle is not true in a fatalistic sense, but in a creative honouring of the what results from that mix.
3. Whenever it starts is the right time: Creativity and inspiration do not run by the clock. Things will start when they’re ready.
4. When it’s over, it’s over: Events have a natural lifespan, and it is usually obvious when that lifespan is coming to an end. If something is petering out but there’s still an hour to go in the session, there’s no need to prolong it. The other aspect to this is “When it’s not over, it’s not over”: don’t cut the session short just because the next session is approaching. Work out a way of allowing the event to finish in its own time.

And then there’s the Law of Two Feet (or the Law of Mobility), which basically says that if there’s a time when you feel you’re not contributing anything, or getting anything out of the session, or you feel you’d rather be somewhere else, it is your right and responsibility to use your two feet to move elsewhere. This works beautifully, because it means that you never feel obligated to be somewhere you don’t want to be, meaning you focus much more on your enjoyment.

These are bounded by the twin poles of passion and responsibility. People are invited (not required) to place up on the wall an event they have some passion for, and are prepared to take some responsibility for running.

So that’s what we did. Everyone wrote out on paper what they wanted to do and when they wanted to do it (more than one if they wanted), announced it to the group and stuck it on the wall (result below). It wasn’t long before the wall was full of stuff, more stuff than we could possibly get through in the weekend. There’s a real sense of achievement going from a blank wall with no agenda to a full wall with a full agenda in just 5 minutes. Especially with things you’re excited about and can’t wait to get into, it creates a palpable sense of anticipation. And because people are empowered to run their own sessions, it gives them an energy that would otherwise dissipate.

We’ve been wrestling for a while now with a way of empowering the members of our community without placing unnecessary burdens on them. I think this method does exactly that. It honours the people we have involved, and invites rather than requires their involvement, and allows – no, opens – the space for them to do what they are passionate about. That requires taking responsibility for what they want to do.

So I’m all about Open Space at the moment. Next post will be more about what happened on the weekend, which was an absolute blast.