The future’s no longer orange…it’s teal.

cathedral-processionI recently came across a fascinating article on organisational management. It described a growing movement in some organisations which seems to herald perhaps a paradigm shift in the way they will be run in the future.

The piece built on a developmental theory of organisations which argues that organisations have experienced a series of evolutionary breakthroughs to achieve new levels of achievement and complexity (see figure below).

The article then suggested that we are the process of a new breakthrough a movement into a new realm. In the colour categorisation of this evolutionary scheme these new organisations are called ‘teal organisations’. In this new realm, teal organisations embody three important values:

1.       Self-management – management is no longer a top-down process but is embedded throughout organisations giving people at every level the freedom to make decisions

2.       Wholeness – the organisation actively encourages people to express all that they are in the organisation rather than some professional part of themselves. The organisation sees itself as having a role in people development of wholeness

3.       Evolutionary purpose – organisations have a deep sense that they have a purpose beyond themselves that they must sense and respond to. The bottom line is not shareholder value, but on responding well to this sense of evolutionary purpose.

teal-orgsAn example of a teal organisation is Buurtzorg, a care provider in Holland. Founded in 2006 it took a completely different approach to providing care to the overstretched, centrally controlled care companies that have, much like in the UK, proliferated in Holland since the 1990’s. At Buurtzorg teams of 10 -12 nurses serve a clearly defined neighbourhood. These teams self-manage – they decide which patients to prioritise, they liaise with local doctors and pharmacies and collaborate with the local hospitals.  Instead of proving care in the narrowly defined way it often is –  washing patients, changing bandages, administering drugs – the purpose of Buutzorg is to help patients life well. Nurses sit down with their clients and help them design their own support networks to help them lives as well as they can.

Buurtzord has grown exponentially. After 8 years is market share was 60%. It is incredibly efficient, delivering care with 40% less hours than other care providers, because patients become self-sufficient so much quicker. Hospital admissions have been cut by a third making huge savings in terms of the governments health budgets. Buurtzorg is also a profitable company.  It is quite an incredible picture of an organisation doing things radically different.

Naturally I couldn’t help but think of the church as I read this article. Where is the church in the schema of organisational paradigms described? Whilst we might at least be able to discount the first paradigm (red) which describes brutal organisations like street gangs and organised crime, the church finds itself all too familiar with elements of the other paradigms. Organisations that are based on the principle of an army (Amber), a machine (orange) or a family (green) all have operational elements that can be found in the contemporary church.

Perhaps this is what you might expect. The church, once absorbed acquiescently into political empire in the 4th century, has been mimicing the dominant culture ever since.  The last half-century has seen the church import, with relatively little reflection of critique, the business practices of the successful organisation around it. And part of the challenge we face is that most denominations still operate with the structures of a medieval hierarchy in a world that is utterly different and utterly unpredictable. We have as Bishop JV Taylor put it ‘lost our nerve and our sense of direction and have turned the divine initiative into a human enterprise’. No wonder we are so entranced by the best human enterprises of our age.

The descriptions of teal organisations are fascinating however. They resonate with a sense of what the church was always called to be. The metaphor that best describes a teal organisation is that of living organism – there are resonances here of Jesus’ agrarian metaphors for the Kingdom and of course Paul’s metaphor of the body. Self-management and wholeness relate powerfully with the church’s call to enable human flourishing and personal development.

But perhaps it is with the idea of evolutionary purpose that a key connection is made. Teal organisations are openly embracing the idea that there is something greater than simply the market outside of themselves. They are deliberately seeing to connect with, sense and respond to something beyond themselves that is calling them to a higher purpose. For many this brings into play practices of silence and contemplation, or of what has become known as ‘presencing’, attending to something deeper than just spreadsheets, business plans and management targets. Teal organisations, and those who study them, begin to get very unbusiness-like with their language at this point, God rarely gets a mention, but suddenly the realm of the unseen is entering into the parlance and practice of reputable and profitable organisations.

So, business has entered postmodernity and the New Age. So what? The church’s call is to continually respond to the voice of its founder, not the chatter of the trends of our age. Absolutely, except that in teal organisations I see something fundamental to what the church is, and which it has lost. It has lost a central belief that it is an organism, not an organisation, that it is a community in relationship with a God who calls, not a thing, or an enterprise that just puts God’s name on the letterhead. It has most critically lost a willingness to listen to the voice of the Spirit which is constantly calling it into new places and into new forms. And to a voice that is so consistently challenging to our penchant for order because it is constantly speaking from out there in the world where things are changing and people lives will not fit the categories we would like them to.

Jurgen Moltmann has spoken of three paradigms in the church’s history – the hierarchical paradigm (think Christendom, think amber), the Christocentric paradigm (think reformed churches, think orange/green) and the charismatic paradigm (perhaps think teal?). He says ‘in the charismatic congregation Christians come of age, and acquire the courage to live out their own experience of faith and to bring themselves with their own powers into the community of the coming of the Kingdom of God’.  Yet have we not been in the charismastic paradigm since the day of Pentecost? Did we simply lose our way, our nerve, and get dragged along with the same cultural and organisational trends described by contemporary theorists. Whichever way surely now we are invited to boldly reembody the church’s call to be a genuine charismatic community; diverse, local, agile, that seeks to enable human flourishing and wholeness and which is deeply attentive to the Spirit of God that gives her life and calls her forward.

 

 

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The church of 2030 starts here

I recently received an email to say that the course I had booked on had to be cancelled due to lack of interest. The course was entitled ‘Preparing for 2030: Mission, Megatrends and the Future of the Church Conference’. And I guess I thought it was perhaps church-technology-of-the-futurerevealing that a course looking at the kind of world we will be ministering in in 15 years’ time did not garner enough support. Some will argue that the course was fishing in a pretty limited pool given that a large proportion of current church leaders in the Diocese where I work will be retired in 15 years’ time. There is also the perennial issue of encouraging busy clergy away from their context to engage in the important-but-not-urgent stuff of ongoing learning.

Even so, that a course, oriented so clearly towards the future mission of the church, could not attract enough participants to run suggests to me that we have a problem. We are not sufficiently concerned about the future of the church to study what the future might look like. We are not sufficiently concerned about the future of the church to seriously consider what changes need to made now to plan for it. Perhaps, even worse, we are not sufficiently aware of the rapidly changing world we are in to see that unless we study the future we are forever living and ministering in the past.

In periods of rapid change any organisation needs to be extremely adaptable in order to remain effective. But to be able to adapt we need to be willing to adapt. And to be willing to adapt there needs to be a commitment to it. Gaining that kind of commitment requires some work, the telling of truth about the present as well as any casting of vision for the future. To some extent we all hold onto the present as the last remaining vestiges of a warmly held past and we do not let go easily. Adapting, changing and orienting ourselves for the future requires three things: reality, relinquishment and renewal. All too often to we clamour for renewal without first doing the work of enabling one another to face reality and relinquish the past.

As part of my ministry recently I have been meeting with a small group who represent a new worshipping community within a local parish setting. The new community was deliberately set up in the hope of engaging new people. Many of the group are committed to the future of the church but have also been a part of this parish for many years. They remember the past with great fondness. I have spent the past 6 months exploring mission for their context with this group. However, it has been hard for our discussions not to be drawn back into concerns for the church, that is the church building, a beautiful old building, devoid of heating, in completely the wrong place for its community. The last time we met however there seemed to me to be a turning point. I presented them with some harsh realities about the place and identity of the church in modern society and culture. I presented them with the concept of a church in exile; on the edge, no longer at the centre, no longer asked for its opinion, or respected for its views, no longer (physically or otherwise) at the heart of community life and able to reside there and see people come to it. As this picture developed and we discussed its merits, the mood in the room grew gloomy, then resistant and then finally resigned. It was a hard truth, but it was nevertheless the truth. The church of Christendom, able to command such an influential and prominent place in society and culture, has gone. We are in exile. And the sooner we face up to the reality of that and relinquish whatever false and nostalgic identities we have for our church the better.future-vision

Much as the exilic prophets did for Israel, telling them the truth of the disastrous nature of the situation they were in, church leaders must do for their worshipping communities. Unless we embrace the reality of our identity as people in exile we are never going to orient ourselves to be the sort of Christian communities we need to be now, or in the future. We need a conversion. We need to relinquish one paradigm and positively accept the reality of another, one where we must learn again what it means to be faithful witness to Christ in a culture that is not oriented by his message or ethics in any substantial way.

Recently Archbishop Justin Welby, speaking at the recent New Wine leaders gathering said this:

“I want to say to you today that I believe from the bottom of my heart that the long years of winter in the church, especially in the Church of England, are changing. The ice is thawing, the spring is coming. There is a new spring in the church.”

Encouraging words. But I am not sure many are truly aware of the reality of the winter we are emerging from. Or if they are, they look nostalgically to a balmy summer of yesteryear to inspire any hope for a new season. Some will not be able to spot a coming spring because, as I believe, it will look very different from the new season that might hope for. Renewal is not a return to some recycled past. Renewal, by its very nature, is the unexpected wonderful new reality of God’s inbreaking into his world and his people.

The concept of exile is powerful truth for us. Like Israel of the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem we must face up the reality that the old dispensation has gone. We must learn to live in a new land and embrace being strangers and aliens instead of lords and leaders. To do this we must face the reality of our identity and relinquish hopes and visions inspired by warm feelings for the past. Only then might we begin to embrace renewal, the new thing that God is doing in his church to which he invites us to participate. 2030 may seem a long way away, but it starts now, with a conversion to a new way of seeing, a new paradigm of church identity and mission where we embrace the truth of our identity as exiles in a foreign land.

Teachers, junior doctors and vicars – the precious value of vocations

stressed teacher

In the course of the past few months I have had a similar conversation with a number of very different people in a variety of professions. All have resigned from a profession they largely loved and felt clearly drawn to. And all have come to the painful and difficult conclusion that they can no longer continue in their chosen profession and remain themselves.

Of these, two are GPs. Both have spent huge amounts of time, energy and money and significant personal cost to qualify. Both have worked for a number of years in the NHS and yet both have come to point where they can no longer continue. For these two GPs the pressure to attend to patients at breakneck speed, ensuring that a quota of patients can be seen by lunchtime within the targets set for them by their practice managers, has simply proved too much. They are stressed, demoralized, almost broken. They are also heart broken, drive out by an atmosphere of systemic urgency which mitigates against the kind of time and attention required to really care for a human being.

Two others are teachers. Both have taught, quite intentionally, in schools with a challenging intake of students from disadvantaged backgrounds. And both feel they can no longer attend to these children as people because the system will not allow it. Their vocation to nurture the potential of these children has been crushed by the sheer weight of administrative responsibility, suffocated by an airless atmosphere of one-dimensional achievement and endless inspection.

Asjunior doctors strike I write junior doctors are in the midst of an unprecedented third strike. Whilst the strike is about a new contract, and therefore, in theory, about pay and working hours, at heart it is about value. It is about how much we value a vocation where intelligent people, invest huge amounts of themselves, often at great personal sacrifice, in order to tend to another human being at a point of need.  Junior doctors recognise, in the new contract soon to be imposed on them, not just something that is unfair, but something that ultimately devalues their vocation.

A vocation is something that will motivate the individual beyond the normal relationship between work and remuneration. GPs, teachers, and junior doctors already work far more hours than they are contracted to. They do so because something within them drives them to care, to nurture, to heal. We recognise it in them, we know that it is there to some degree in all of us. We want it to be there when we need it ourselves.

However, what we are witnessing, in all these professions, is the effects of a culture that has significantly lost sight of the value and beauty of vocation. In The Road to Character New York Times columnist David Brooks argues powerfully that our western culture has increasingly become infected by a ‘utilitarian virus’. This culture lives by a ‘the logic of economics’, in which:

Input leads to output. Effort leads to reward. Practice makes perfect. Maximise your utility. Impress the world.’

And it results in a kind of mean-spirited reductionism that distils everything down to what can be measured, what can be systematized, what can be reproduced and maximized. It is the world of economics translated into every corner of life. And now it is reaching those areas of life utterly ill-disposed to it, the care and nurture of our fundamental humanity, our health, our education.

In that same clutch of conversations I referred to earlier there were also two ordained ministers. I knew them both when, with myself and others, we arrived at theological college to train for ministry in the Church of England. Each of us had articulated our sense of vocation to a substantial number of people within the church and been accepted for training. We were a cohort of men and women, on average in our 30’s, passionate about our faith, hopeful for the future of the church, and committed to lead and serve the church in its worship and mission.  10 years later I happened upon two of that same cohort seriously considering leaving the ministry. Not for a loss of faith. Not primarily due to the demands of the job. They were on the edge of resigning from ministry for the same reason that my GP friends and teacher friends were resigning – the institution they had committed themselves to serving no longer seemed to provide the context in which their vocation could be exercised. Both spoke with a sad resignation at the conclusion they had come to. They remained motivated by their faith, and by the vision of church that is local communities of disciples living out their faith in a local context, yet could no longer see how this deep sense of vocation could be given space in an institution that placed such huge demands of administration on them. This burden of administration; managing graveyards, the paperwork associated with grade listed buildings, the responsibility of service provision across multiple churches over a wide area was becoming a tsunami of managerial drudgery that they saw no way out of – except by moving on.

It was clearly painful for them to come to this conclusion. It was a huge salutary warning to me to hear it. And it ought to be a salutary warning to the church, the Church of England certainly, but perhaps the whole church.

It is some years now since John Drane wrote about the ‘McDonaldisation’ of the church. He described concisely the economic dogmatism of the corporate world, a world which creates a tyranny of calculability, predictability, conformity and control. And he urged the church against these creeping tendencies, arguing instead for values of creativity, relationality, flexibility and proactivity as an antidote.

In an age of continuing decline in the mainstream denominations what Brooks calls a ‘utilitarian calculus’ and Drane ‘McDonaldisation’ can be a pernicious temptation. It can be a potential default mechanism for large institutions struggling to keep going. But the casualties of its dehumanizing tendencies are everywhere. Teachers choosing to teach abroad. Junior doctors striking. Young ministers reluctantly leaving a denomination and seeking a context somewhere else in which their vocation can be expressed.

church vocationsI can remember our college vice-principle warning us not to end up ‘cranking the eccelesial machine’, and yet some of us, despite out best intentions, have ended up doing just that. 10 years into my life as an ordained minister I find myself as a training incumbent, Anglican-ese for a minister with responsibility for the 3 – 4 year post-ordination training phase of a new minister. The cohort of curates of which my curate is one are a phenomenal bunch of young ministers with a passionate sense of their vocation for leadership and mission in the church. Will this young group of fresh ministers also end up turning the crank? If they do we will have failed them. And the danger is we will also have lost them.

What then must the church do? First, we must listen. What is clear from my conversations with GPs, teachers and vicars alike is a sense in which the reality of the pressures of their jobs is not listened to by a distant and stubborn institution. The institution continues belligerently to eke out another year, another turn of the wheel, with staff constantly at the end of their resources. ‘Insanity’ as Einstein once said ‘is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.’ The church must listen to the vocations of those whose call it has affirmed, as they come into authorised ministry under their care. When I listen I hear people articulating a passion to make a difference, to lead in mission, to see the church change and be renewed. I do not hear a glowing endorsement of a ministry that will result in them wading knee deep in paperwork, or running from one service to another with hardly a moment for a meaningful conversation.

Secondly, in listening to these young ministers we must try to see that in them is a vision of what God is doing, a vision of the future of the church.  If we truly believe in the gift and divine value of vocation, as surely we do, then we must listen to what these vocations are saying, for they are the voice of God for what the church must be. We must be willing to take, in many cases, the bold risk of creating space for these vocations to flourish. We must stop forcing people into roles that give insufficient space for their gifts and call to thrive. This will mean tough decisions. It will mean that certain cogs in the ecclesial machine grind to a halt. It will mean investing in risky vocations, and creative individuals who don’t quite fit the mould. But it will, I believe, mean a shift toward shaping the church around its vocational future rather than its past.