The Power of Vulnerability
Listen: “Running Up That Hill” by Meg Myers or Kate Bush
I remember listening to a TED talk in 2012 by a woman of whom I’d never heard. It was entitled “The Power of Vulnerability” by Brené Brown. I was immediately drawn to her content and her vulnerability. I went out and bought her book on the same topic entitled Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. Almost ten years later, it’s still on my top ten favorite nonfiction book list.
Brené starts her book with one of my favorite quotes of all time, a quote I have used in countless sermons for over two decades. The quote comes from one of my favorite American presidents, Theodore Roosevelt. Roosevelt’s speech, “Citizenship in a Republic,” is sometimes called “The Man in the Arena” because of these famous lines:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly….
I always loved this quote because it resonated with me so deeply. When I started Vineyard Church in Kansas City, Missouri in 1990, I was excited about the potential of a grace-based church for people who had rejected church because of legalism or judgmental attitudes. I started a rock-and-role church with a “come as you are” atmosphere. I didn’t wear a coat and tie, and we had drums and electric guitars. It was not typical church behavior in 1990. As the church grew over the decades to several thousand people, it was easy for people to assume that the church grew without a high price tag. But I remember the hundreds and thousands of people who were critical of me and the church. For every one person who stayed and like what we were doing, a dozen left critical of me and the church. I remember one person telling me that God had written “Ichabod” over the church (Christianise for “God’s blessing has departed”).
I remember how numerous and harsh my critics were. I had a fellow pastor in Kansas City preach and entire series against me. So you can see why the Theodore Roosevelt quote meant so much to me. It helped me stay true to my heart for a grace-based church where anyone was welcome. I said many times, “I don’t care where you’ve been or what you’ve done, God loves you and we are glad you are here.”
I also tried to practice appropriate transparency and vulnerability in my messages. Most of the time, when I shared an example from my own life, I shared from a place of failure, embarrassment, or imperfection. I wanted people to know that I didn’t “walk on water” or have a special standing with God. Brené defines vulnerability as a courageous approach to life which involves uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure in regards to our imperfections. I tried to practice this in my speaking and leading at Vineyard Church for decades. One of my mentors said a pastor needs to have the “skin of a rhinoceros and the heart of a child.” So challenging!
Despite my efforts at vulnerability, I didn’t expose all my private struggles publicly, nor am I suggesting that this would have been appropriate. However, there were two private struggles that I never shared with anyone except my personal counselor: (1) my marriage issues; and (2) my personal struggle with Xanax and alcohol in 2017 and 2018. As I think back, I thought I was protecting my marriage, but I was focused on my insomnia more than I was worried about an alcohol and drug problem.
Today, I read the Roosevelt quote and Brené’s book with fresh eyes. I have decided to tackle my personal (but highly public exposure) struggles with openness and honesty through telling my story. I started doing this in October of 2020 through my blogs and podcasts. I have also started a new nonprofit called Spirituality Adventures. My hope is that through my transparency, authenticity, and vulnerability, people will benefit, learn, and grow. My hope is to ignite spiritual curiosity and growth through blogs, podcasts, teaching, and events.
I remember when I read Brené’s book for the first time. She ended one of her chapters (“Understanding and Combating Shame”) with a passage from a 1922 children’s classic The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams. It’s a reminder of how much easier it is to be real when we are loved. (While writing this blog, I received a text from a former church member who said my superpower was “loving on people.” He said this was the reason Vineyard grew because I gave people unconditional love. I hope there is some truth in that. It’s certainly something to which I aspire—more now than ever before.) Here’s the passage:
“Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.”
“Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit.
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.”
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “ or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
Shalom
©realfredherron, 2021
