People have the most beautiful potential of speaking into who you were made to become. Their words can breathe life into a wary, critically inward glance or affirm a part of yourself lain otherwise dormant. At my former church community there was a term for pressing into this type of relational power. Hero-maker. Our lead pastor even wrote a book titled as such, and as staff we were expected to live in this paradigm of pushing to uncover the unique giftedness of those that we had come to call family through our Sunday gatherings. No matter our own individual bends, we were to help our people see what they were capable of. Hero-making demands an immense amount of humility, as an individual’s growth is not intended to call attention to the hero-maker themself, but perhaps even instead remove any sort of spotlight so as to let the other illuminate. Hero-making requires an extraordinary amount of grace, as unearthing someone’s potential may likely mean digging through layers of dirt and finding both weeds and roots alike. Hero-making entails losing control, which for someone to whom hero-making comes naturally might be by far the greatest challenge, because you might discover along the way that the individual you are speaking into has something to offer that you do not, and your ability to build up often hinged on what you had to say as opposed to what they had to bring.
I cannot say what kind of hero-maker I became, but the notion was one that I longed to embrace once the term was put in front of me. Call it what you will – disciple, apprentice, coach – all with perhaps a unique variance inside of each definition, but at its core the root for each expression remains the same. Loving other people in a way that makes them come alive and drives them to search for more than what they know. Now that I think about it, perhaps this has always been my desire, the italicized merely being a crafted statement that defined my music endeavor out of college. These words still sit on the top of our Lucrezio webpage as an expression of our music. Though only in these last few years have I found that statement resonate more in how it is intended: for the benefit of others, rather than for the benefit of self.
Yet here’s where I sit these days. With far more questions on the horizon than answers, shallow tent stakes in the present, and far more transience than permanence. What next when you find yourself replaced?
Last fall I stepped down from my position at the church family I had come to love deeply, albeit with complications, as most places bring to an extent. There was no question that no other choice was to be made, and with that meant letting enough of myself go to let both those around me and myself move on. Moving on should never mean moving past, for not only do our stories define us, but the people we either speak for or those who speak into us become irreplaceable, whether for health or for hurt. Yet because of that we are deeply tempted to want that piece of our story to go on, even if illogical, so as not to feel forgotten. Though instead relationships that take years to forge can suddenly unravel in moments merely by a change in proximity.
So in other words, relationships are risky. They are anything but safe, even though you pour into them your soul. For that reason you feel they should give you some sense of permanence, but they cannot. For when you find yourself needing to move on, and thereby needing to let go those you have brought close, you discover that change, even replacement, is not only inevitable but very much needed. We cannot walk around with lost relationships and never fill up the void for the sake of preserving what was. The beautiful fact of the matter is that no two souls will ever be the same because they knew each other. And that is a permanence, even when the old makes way for the new, that we can take great solace in when moving on feels difficult.
Don’t be afraid to let your voice be a megaphone for someone’s unrealized depths, knowing full well the day might come when you no longer can be. Celebrate the humility that comes with stepping aside to allow a different voice to speak, for you cannot be one voice in a great chamber hall, but your echos will still ricochet far beyond your time there. And you too will be better for it. Much better.
EXPOSITION: Have you ever found yourself latching onto old relationship for the sake of not feeling replaced, or even forgotten? Maybe relationships from a time in your childhood, a place of work, or simply a frequent gathering place. What loss do you realize perhaps you were mourning if it wasn’t the person or people themselves?
RISE: Celebrate the new. Let old relationships rest. By all means, stay connected and invested even if the situation deems it, but consider your motive. Are you hoping to get a peak into the new as a way to affirm what was and your place there, or celebrate what is in full view of your absence there? Hone in on the latter.
DENOUEMENT: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.”