The second most important lesson I have learned in my life–I was a seminary student, around 1970, when I learned it.
I was already over-extended–a full-time student with a full-time job, teaching at a local community college to support myself, my wife and young son; I also, in order to fulfill the seminary’s “field education” requirement, had a part-time youth minister’s job at a church; and I sang professionally on a weekly television program–indeed, it wasn’t like I didn’t have enough on my plate when I accepted yet another extra-curricular involvement.
Some people have a hard time saying “Yes.” Whereas others of us–our problem is just the opposite–that of saying “No.” Especially to “good things.”
Either can reveal one’s insecurity. The latter–since I know it better–involving a fear of displeasing, an inordinate need for acceptance and approval, to be included, the tyranny of “works righteousness,” that of endlessly trying to “earn our way,” to prove our worth, the Protestant Work Ethic’s achilles heel.
I was asked to plan and direct the music for an annual missions conference hosted by the seminary, the school’s primary way of recruiting college students to consider a call to ministry. It was a high profile event all right, a big deal in the seminary community, and my being included in a leadership role certainly appealed to my ego’s need for recognition and the status inherent to such an important occasion.
To be considered talented and creative, much less reliable, someone you can count on–there’s nothing wrong with that–except it can be a trap, when such attributes become too exclusively defining in anyone’s life. It’s not unlike being “needed”–unless, of course, one’s “need to be needed” exceeds, in its grandiosity, what are reasonable ways of self-getting, even in the guise of self-giving.
So I went to one of my professors, asking if I could take a make-up test, explaining that having accepted such a leadership role in the missions conference, “I hadn’t had time” to prepare for the scheduled exam.
I figured he would be impressed with my significant contribution to such a signal event in the life of the seminary. Not that he wasn’t.
Still, he said “No.” That was it. End of discussion. “Read my lips–what don’t you understand about ‘No’?”
After which he preached his sermon. “Don’t ever say, ‘I didn’t have enough time.’ We all have the same amount of time–24-hours-a-day. You chose to use yours doing something worthy and important. But,” he continued, “it’s not the primary reason you’re here, in seminary–to do extra-curricular things. Your school work is meant to come first.”
I, of course, was in shock. No one had ever confronted me in such a way before, nor been so blunt–certainly not in the name of the Lord–a kind of “tough love” that stung, that had an “edge” to it.
So I had to stay up all night cramming for the test, losing my voice due to sleep deprivation and the stress I had created for myself. In fact, for weeks afterwards I carried my hurt feelings around, seeking sympathy from anyone who would give it to me.
Until I finally realized what a favor that professor had done for me, what I hadn’t realized at the time. He didn’t “let me off the hook”; he held me to a higher standard of priority-setting and accountability.
Not that I had ever been necessarily “spoiled,” or a “ne’r do well.” Just the opposite. As something of an “over-achiever,” I’d gotten used to people being impressed with me and my accomplishments, at least enough to “cut me some slack” when I got myself over-extended. Which happened–too often, I must confess.
But not this time. Ironically, that professor apparently admired and appreciated me enough to confront me about something that was self-defeating in my life, my not being aware of it precisely the reason it could (and likely would) lead to my undoing–predictably somewhere along the way–when the stakes may have been even higher.
It would have been easier for him to have let me take a make-up exam; that way, he wouldn’t have been the recipient of my abuse, my bad-mouthing him to whomever would listen. Until I woke up and realized that he had “blessed me” in a way that was, in fact, respectful rather than merely solicitous, much less patronizing. The professor–he had to be pretty secure to expose me as he had–it would have been easier for him to coddle me.
Obviously, I must have passed that test, since I graduated from the seminary over forty years ago. Indeed, I learned a lot in those days–the years of my seminary experience–none more important than a hard-nosed professor’s “time management” lesson.
He was right, of course. There is no such thing as “more time.” Whenever I’m saying “Yes” to what/whomever, I’m also saying “No” to something/one else. That’s all that “time management” is–setting priorities–as hard as some of those decisions can be. When saying “No” to some “good things” may not be easy, but just as necessary if one wants to be a responsible, honorable, accountable and reliable person. Such “No” saying being essential to also saying “Yes” to some other “just as good,” or even “better things.”
