What I appreciate most about Brown\u2019s work is that she courageously and compassionately addresses topics that most of us have been taught to avoid. Almost two decades ago, she told her husband, \u201cI want to start a global conversation about vulnerability and shame\u201d<\/b> (xx). Vulnerability and shame?! To say the least, those are not the easiest subjects to discuss. What would you think if someone said over a casual meal, \u201cI\u2019d like you to be vulnerable and tell me about what you are most ashamed of.\u201d Ummm, no. For most of us, such an invitation would only feel safe under rare conditions, if at all. But Brown\u2019s work is about how and why we might own our imperfections in ways that are liberating and life-giving. <\/span><\/p>\n Over the past few years, she has written three bestselling books whose core themes can be distilled to the following:<\/span><\/p>\n The Gifts of Imperfection<\/span><\/a><\/span> \u2014 Be you. [not pretending to be someone else, someone less than you are, or someone you have been told you should be] <\/i>Be you. All<\/i> of you.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/li>\n Daring Greatly<\/span><\/a><\/span> \u2014 Be all in. [Don\u2019t hold back.] <\/i>Be all<\/i> in.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/li>\n Rising Strong<\/span><\/a><\/span> \u2014 Fall. Get up. Try again. [If you are being you and being all in, the chances are high that you will eventually \u2014 maybe even quickly \u2014 fail in some ways, major or minor. And when you do \u2014 keep being you. Keep being all in.] <\/i>Get up and try again. (xix)<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n She writes that, \u201cvulnerability \u2014 the willingness to show up and be seen with no guarantee of outcome \u2014 is So in the spirit of vulnerability, let me tell a story of success, failure, and getting back up to try again. I was a successful student in high school, college, and seminary. I worked hard, but I also enjoyed academic work. It turns out,\u00a0however, that there is a big difference between writing papers about religion and being a minister.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n I didn\u2019t know in advance how the transition would go from seminary student to congregational leader, so I told the search committee of the first congregation I served as Associate Pastor that I intended to stay at least three years with them in Louisiana. As it turns out, we were a great fit, and I ended up staying seven years, four more years than I originally planned. <\/b><\/span><\/p>\n I could\u2019ve stayed longer, but I knew that staying would be the safe option, and I was feeling called to take the risk of moving from being an Associate Pastor to being a Lead Pastor. So, Magin and I moved to southern Maryland, and I began serving as the solo pastor of a formerly large congregation which had grown quite small and was seeking to grow again. I told the search committee for that congregational restart that I planned to stay at least five years. <\/b><\/span><\/p>\n In year one, I tried all the recommended strategies that I knew in sermons, classes and workshops, connecting with the community, and more. I tried all the strategies that had lead to a successful seven-year ministry in Louisiana. I read all the recommended books, and went to a top-notch national training on congregational growth. I can now see, in retrospect, that I tried many of the same approaches that have also lead to a so-far successful four-year ministry at the congregation I now serve\u00a0in Frederick, Maryland. But in southern Maryland, after a year of my best efforts, the congregation had grown some \u2014 but we were hoping for much more to build a congregation that was sustainable longterm. <\/b><\/span><\/p>\n After a year of frustratingly slow growth, I did at least feel like I had at least gained a more realistic understanding of the context than I had before moving to the area. So I attended another top national training on congregational growth, met with the congregation to form a plan of action, and resolved to redouble our efforts for year two. But growth continued at a snail\u2019s pace, and well into my second year, I found myself telling Magin, \u201cI feel like I at least need to look around and see if there are any other options presenting themselves.\u201d A few days later the latest issue of Christian Century <\/i>(a popular journal widely read by mainline Protestant clergy) came in the mail, and in the back was a classified ad from the Unitarian Universalist Congregation pf\u00a0Frederick (UUCF), which was casting a wide net in their search for a minister.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Just as with the congregation in Louisiana (where I planned on staying three years and stayed seven), it turns out that we are a great fit as well. I told the UUCF search committee that I planned on staying at least 7 to 10 years \u2014 and at the beginning of year five, leaving is the last thing on my mind. In contrast, one of the hardest things I\u2019ve ever had to do was picking up the phone to call members of that small congregation to tell them that I was leaving \u2014 not after five years, but after two years. <\/b><\/span><\/p>\n They had the funds to continue paying my salary for the full five years and beyond. And I remain proud of the good ministry that I was able to offer them in many ways. But I needed to be honest with myself and with them that the evidence was increasingly clear that I was not the catalyst for growth in that setting that both they and I hoped I might be. <\/b><\/span><\/p>\n Remember Bren\u00e9 Brown\u2019s insight that \u201cvulnerability \u2014 the willingness to show up and be seen with no guarantee of outcome \u2014 is the only path to more love, belonging, and joy.\u201d The easy choice might have been for me and Magin to stay in Louisiana, where I would likely have been the heir apparent when the previous Senior Minister retired. But we wanted to be geographically closer to family and in a location with better job opportunities for Magin. So we took a chance \u2014 with no guarantee of outcome \u2014 and it didn\u2019t work out. But, in the end, it was a path to more love, belonging, and joy.<\/span><\/p>\n I learned a lot about myself during that two year journey \u2014 not only about what I am good at doing, but also about facing what I\u2019m not<\/i> good at doing.<\/b> I also learned a lot about being a minister. As an associate pastor, I was used to preaching only once every two months, but for those two years as a solo minister, I preached almost every Sunday. I suspect there are ways that I could not have seen in advance that my experience during those two years made me more attractive to UUCF\u2019s search committee than if I\u2019ve spent an eighth and ninth year as Associate Pastor in Louisiana. Moreover, it was precisely my failure that helped open me to taking the risk of moving from being a minister in progressive\u00a0Christian congregations to seeking fellowship with the Unitarian Universalist Association<\/a>. <\/span><\/p>\n In the midst of that transition, Bren\u00e9 Brown\u2019s work is one of the resources that helped me articulate the difference between saying, \u201cI failed<\/i>\u201d and \u201cI am a failure<\/i>\u201d (47). I did fail to help that congregation grow to a sustainable size, but that failure is very different from saying \u201cI am a failure.\u201d<\/b> One is something I did<\/i>; the other is something I am<\/i>. Any one of us may fail repeatedly, but no one is a failure (194). Even when we fail,\u00a0each of us remains a person\u00a0with\u00a0inherent worth and dignity.<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n Brown writes about the ways that guilt<\/i> and empathy<\/i> can be helpful emotions in many circumstances, causing us to feel the ways that our actions have impacted others. But shame<\/i> is different than guilt or empathy: \u201cShame is much more likely to be the cause of destructive behavior than the cure\u201d<\/b> \u2014 because shame tries to make us question our inherent worth and dignity (128).<\/span><\/p>\n If you are feeling shame, Brown recommends two steps:<\/span><\/p>\n 1. Talk to ourselves in the same way we\u2019d talk to someone we love<\/b><\/p>\n Yes, you made a mistake. You\u2019re human.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n You don\u2019t have to do it like anyone else does.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n Fixing it and making amends will help. Self-loathing will not.<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n 2. Reach out to someone we trust \u2014 a person who has earned the right to hear our story and who has the capacity to respond with empathy. <\/b>(195)<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n You may even find that in sharing your story of shame with someone you trust that you may end up giving them permission down the line to share either with you or with someone else something that they have been hiding or repressing.<\/span><\/p>\n Along those lines, one of the events that Brown describes in her book is FailCon<\/span><\/a>, a conference for entrepreneurial founders of start up companies \u201cto learn from and prepare for failure, so they can iterate and grow fast.\u201d What attendees of these conferences report is that they still associate failure with \u201csadness, fear, making a fool of myself, desperation, panic, shame, and heartbreak.\u201d But when asked about the people who are willing to be vulnerable and share their stories of failure at FailCon, the attendees see them as \u201chelping, generous, open, knowledgeable, brave, and courageous\u201d<\/b> (xxvi). <\/span><\/p>\n There\u2019s also a flip side to that dynamic. When we refuse to be vulnerable and try to hide our failures from others, we create the conditions for shame<\/i> to grow \u2014 and often our repressed feelings come out in pathological ways. In Brown\u2019s words, \u201cThere are too many people today who, instead of feeling<\/i> hurt, act out<\/i> their hurt; instead of acknowledging<\/i> pain, they\u2019re inflicting<\/i> pain on others. Rather than risk feeling<\/i> disappointed, they\u2019re choosing to live<\/i> disappointed<\/b>\u201d (xxvii). She\u2019s learned to see \u201cemotional stoicism,\u201d \u201cblustery posturing,\u201d and \u201cswagger\u201d as signs of someone moving in the opposite direction from that vulnerable path that leads to love, belonging, and joy.<\/span><\/p>\n Regarding that vulnerable way, one of Brown\u2019s favorite quotes is from Theodore Roosevelt\u2019s 1910 speech \u201cMan in the Arena\u201d:<\/span><\/p>\n It is not the critic who counts; not the [one] who points out how the strong [person] stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the [one] who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly<\/b>; \u2026who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if [they] fail, at least fails while daring greatly. (xx-xxi)<\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n What might that look like for you at this time in your life? What arena is calling to you? Where might you dare greatly?<\/span><\/p>\n For now, I\u2019ll leave you with these words adapted from the conclusion to Bren\u00e9 Brown\u2019s book Rising Strong<\/span><\/a>:<\/span><\/p>\n When we show up with our whole selves,<\/span><\/p>\n When we are all in<\/i>,<\/span><\/p>\n When we dare greatly<\/i>,<\/span><\/p>\n There is no greater threat <\/span><\/p>\n to the critics <\/span><\/p>\n and the cynics <\/span><\/p>\n and fear mongers<\/span><\/p>\n Than those of us who are willing to risk falling<\/span><\/p>\n Because we have learned how to rise up<\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n With our wounds and our bruised hearts;<\/span><\/p>\n We choose owning<\/i> our struggle over <\/span><\/p>\n hiding, <\/span><\/p>\n hustling, and <\/span><\/p>\n pretending.<\/span><\/p>\n When we deny our stories, they end up defining us<\/span><\/p>\n When we run from struggle, we are never free<\/span><\/p>\n So we own our truth and look it in the eye<\/span><\/p>\n And we dare to write a different ending.<\/span><\/p>\n We craft <\/span><\/p>\n Love<\/i> from heartbreak,<\/span><\/p>\n Compassion<\/i> from shame, and<\/span><\/p>\n Courage<\/i> from failure.<\/span><\/p>\n Our power is showing up<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n Sharing our truth <\/i>is our way home<\/span><\/p>\n We are not perfect, <\/span><\/p>\n But we are wiser<\/i> on the other side of every fall<\/span><\/p>\n And braver<\/i> every time we dare to get up and try again<\/span><\/p>\n We are the brave and brokenhearted<\/span><\/p>\n And we are rising strong.<\/span><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n The Rev. Dr. Carl Gregg is a trained spiritual director, a D.Min. graduate of San Francisco Theological Seminary,\u00a0and the minister of the\u00a0Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Frederick<\/a>, Maryland.\u00a0Follow him on\u00a0Facebook<\/a>\u00a0(facebook.com\/carlgregg) and\u00a0Twitter<\/a>\u00a0(@carlgregg).<\/em><\/p>\n\n
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<\/a>the only path to more love, belonging, and joy\u201d<\/b> (xvii). Notice that she does not<\/i> say that vulnerability is the only path to success, fame, and wealth. (Far too many people lie, cheat, and steal their way to success, fame, and wealth.) She says that, \u201cvulnerability\u2026is the only path to more love, belonging, and joy.\u201d And here\u2019s the twist: there are plenty of people with high levels of success, fame, and fortune who do not know how to be vulnerable and who also do not have love, belonging, and joy.<\/span><\/p>\n\n
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