Staff relationships in large churches take constant work to avoid debilitating friction. Good staff relationships are important. Although only 12 percent of Protestant churches have more than one full-time staff member, those churches account for roughly 50 percent of all church members. Thus, the church experience of almost one-half of all church members depends to a certain extent on good staff relationships. But how are those relationships developed and maintained?
One way many Christian groups have tried is a wilderness hike, which seeks to help them discover themselves, each other, and God. Since these rugged trips usually mean going without or a meal or two, getting cold, and sleeping on wet ground, they’re not for everyone. But after hearing of the benefits some of these groups derived from such experiences, Gib Martin and his church staff decided to try it.
At the end of the summer of 1980, we needed to get away.
Quarreling and bickering between two factions in the church had left us weary and paranoid. The pressure threatened to destroy the camaraderie between the staff and myself. The year before, we had closed a rehabilitation center that worked with drug addicts, alcoholics, and single-parent families; these needy folk still came for help, and this divided our congregation. Some members said, “You’re neglecting our needs and our children’s needs in favor of undesirables from the community.” Others said, “But we must minister to these people, even if it means only offering them a cool cup of water in Jesus’ name.” The frustrations grew each time we tried to resolve the conflict.
About this time, we learned of a California-based ministry whose function was to teach group dynamics by guiding staffs like ours through a rigorous week of hiking in the Sierra Nevada mountains. We all knew we needed a break, and our first thought was to take our vacations individually, as staff members often do when things get hot. But when we discussed the idea of a retreat to the mountains as a group, everyone-Dan and Carolyn Brannen, our church administrators; Stu and Ann Evans, our youth directors; Ivan Loughlen, a counselor; Nancy Loughlen, church secretary; and Sherry Fayard, a helper-responded with “Let’s go” attitudes.
Stu warned of the physical stress encountered on these wilderness hikes. “Unless we’re prepared to be pushed beyond the limits of our endurance,” he said, “we shouldn’t even consider going.” On Stu’s advice, we agreed to train for six to eight weeks and get our bodies and minds prepared. The following weeks found the-eight of us running, swimming, and watching our diets. Being fifty years old, I suffered considerably when I first started training, but gradually my endurance began to increase. I’d run about five miles in the cool of the early morning and work out in a weight room.
After several weeks I saw a pronounced improvement in my attitude. Not only did I benefit physically from the training, but my mind freed up and shed certain distractions that had bothered me. I was more positive in my communication from the pulpit, and I didn’t feel as bound by what people were saying or thinking about how the church was being run. The rest of the staff shared this same freeing process with me. We all looked forward to the trip.
Early one October morning, we loaded the van while the stars were still out. It was one of those diamond-like mornings, a crystal-clear sky just about to be brightened by the sun’s first light. We could smell faintly the ocean from the west and the cool air that flowed down from the mountains in the east as we headed down the highway.
Late that night we arrived in Grass Valley, California. The tour guides welcomed us and showed us where we could bunk for the night. We were exhausted from traveling all day, and after several collective yawns, we spread out our sleeping bags in one of the log cabins and went to sleep.
In the morning, we rose feeling as if we had left our exhaustion in the last town along the highway somewhere. The guides, John Yates and Bob Walsh, who were to accompany us through the wilderness, explained they would not be with us until noon, so we ate breakfast together and strolled around the cabins, gulping in breaths of mountain air.
About noon, the guides told us to get into our hiking garb. They were going to run us through the ropes course, a series of tests that would determine whether or not we were physically fit enough to take the hike. The tests were designed to teach basic mountaineering skills, to help the guides assess each one of us as to how we might react at crucial times during the trip, and to make us begin the process of discovering how we thought in tough situations.
We were led to a ravine where we noticed a long rope, about twenty-five feet off the ground, stretched between two huge Douglas firs. On each side of the main rope there were guidelines, and we clutched these tightly as we walked that bobbing fifty feet of rope from tree to tree.
When we had made it across the ravine, the guides had us climb thirty feet up another tree to a platform about fifty feet off the ground. They buckled us into cables, sat us down on the edge of the platform, and had us individually jump off into mid-air and ride the cable to the ground.
At first we couldn’t believe they were serious about making us go through this. It looked like a good way to break your neck. One of our staff women did fall; she dangled for a minute by the rope, but then made it safely to the bottom. Some of us were scared to death, more so after watching Ann fall. On the platform some actually cried out from fear. But already there was a sense of camaraderie forming among all of us, and as we each descended the cable, we encouraged the next person not to be afraid. Soon we all were safe on the ground.
Going through this cable exercise showed us the value of giving each other encouragement. Reflecting on the courage this had given reluctant staff members, I thought of our church music director who recently had complained to me: “I’ve wanted to take more time to develop my music skills so I could improve the music program in our church. I’ve expressed this to many people, but not one has encouraged me. My vision is fading and I feel helpless.” Perhaps if we had encouraged him more, he wouldn’t have moved to another church.
My reflection was interrupted as the guides led us off and continued to drill us throughout the afternoon. We walked planks, straddled ropes, climbed rock terraces, balanced on pedestals, and shimmied up and down trees. We never did eat lunch.
The sweat that forms in the heat of the day cakes on your skin by dusk, and as the sun set, we felt exhausted and ready to retire. We all expected to go back to the cabins for a comfortable meal, and then rest until the morning. The guides didn’t see it that way.
They told us to get our packs, and loaded us into a truck headed for a place called Grouse Ridge. We were dumped off in a valley, and with a blunt, “Let’s go!” they pointed to a rocky elevation and told us it was our first destination on the hike.
There were mumblings and grumblings of irritation and anger. Stu and Ann, knowing that starting the hike when we were tired from a day of physical tests was part of the entire plan, encouraged us to meet the challenge and keep going. On their faith, we set off. From our level of 6,000 feet, we were going to climb to Grouse Ridge at 7,700 feet.
As darkness fell the night grew very cold and windy. Later, the moon shone bright and full in the sky and actually lit the path. The higher we hiked, the closer the path bordered the edge of the mountain. With the moon so bright, we were aware of the sudden dropoff and Nancy became extremely frightened. When we came to an open space on the edge of a cliff she said, “All right, I’m not going another step. I’m going back to the cabins.”
“Don’t go back, Nancy,” I said. “You’d have to go alone, and it would violate everything we agreed to. Let me go and talk to the guides.”
I ran ahead and caught up with them. When I told them the dilemma, they said, “You’re going to have to solve this problem yourselves.” Even though I knew they were deliberately making us work through our first major task, I showed my frustration. They compromised, “Okay, tell her if she’ll just come up this far, we’ll discuss it.” I ran back and finally coaxed Nancy to come ahead and talk about her fears.
After talking, however, Nancy refused to budge. “I won’t spend another minute up here,” she said. “I don’t care what conclusions you come to; I refuse to stay.” She began marching back down the trail into the forest.
Finally, the group decided two of us should stay with Nancy while the rest continued up to Grouse Ridge. So Ivan, Nancy’s husband, and I followed her down the path and we stretched out our sleeping bags in a wooded area away from the ledge. She still felt very frightened and explained she’d had a dream about falling off a mountain, and this is what petrified her.
Separated from the group, we felt uneasy in the woods. We realized we needed to talk. Talking out fears is such an essential yet neglected principle in the church. It reminded me of a couple who had shown great interest in joining Trinity Church, but abruptly stopped attending. Noticing their absence, I called them to say hello. They said they had visited other churches because they were afraid their gifts and talents would not be accepted at Trinity. I realized then I should have talked with them before to reassure them about their contribution to Trinity. Now, here in the woods with Nancy, I was determined to make her feel she was loved and an accepted (and protected) member of our group.
I shined my flashlight on my open Bible and read from Psalm 27. “The Lord is my light and my salvation. Whom shall I fear?” Somehow, though, these words seemed a million miles away from how we felt. As I read, something snapped in the leaves behind us and I nearly jumped out of my sleeping bag. I swung the flashlight around and frantically shouted, “What was that?” When we realized nothing was there, it was all we needed to get us laughing at ourselves. And as we laughed, our fears subsided.
I read for a while longer, but pretty soon we relaxed and began getting sleepy. For the rest of the night we didn’t hear anything but the wind blowing through the trees.
When the sun came up we rejoined the others at Grouse Ridge, where the guides instructed us in map and compass reading. They unfolded topographic maps of the region, pointed out Grouse Ridge, and with a finger traced a line to the day’s destination at Penner Lake. As the crow flies it was about six miles.
Then they had us select two leaders for the day. The leaders were to chart the course and take us to Penner Lake. As followers, the rest of us could advise, but we had to submit to the leaders’ decisions. The first decision was that we would hike for a while before eating breakfast. This was readily accepted by the group because we thought it would make sense to start out while the morning was cool.
Along the ridge you could see for miles; the first couple of hours were spent gazing at the beauty around us as we hiked. After breakfast, the sun started to heat things up, so we shed jackets and sweatshirts. We came to several forks in the path and occasionally disagreed over which direction to take, but we had to abide by the leaders’ decisions.
As we hiked, I kept having this sense that we were like a miniature of the Christian church wandering through our own little wilderness. In some ways it would have been easier to go in eight different directions at eight different speeds. Staying together as a group meant being patient with individuals who had less endurance than you had. One of our staff members, Dan, kept getting out ahead of the group; he was impatient with the rest of us, and we felt put down. The times in my pastoral ministry when things haven’t gone right have frequently grown out of people’s impatience with other people’s differing viewpoints, gifts, and levels of understanding.
I remember a brother who constantly criticized and judged other staff members as they worked with our church’s youth ministry. His impatience bogged down the whole effort. I called him into my office one day and suggested he work a little harder and practice some patience. In time, his attitude changed and the youth ministry blossomed. He realized that one person’s impatience can stifle an entire group’s progress. On the wilderness hike, I saw a graphic miniature of this with Dan.
Each time our frustrations mounted, the guides had us sit down and talk things out. We sat down with Dan and expressed our feelings of belittlement. “Don’t go out so far ahead,” I said. “That’s not the direction the leaders want to go,” someone added. Through the verbal exchanges, Dan began to understand the tension he created. He saw his selfishness was causing everyone to suffer, and so he sacrificed his greater endurance to stay with the group.
The day wore on; by mid-afternoon our sixty-pound packs weighed heavily on our backs. When we had hiked nearly six miles toward our destination, we saw that the topography didn’t match that which surrounded Penner Lake on the map. We looked carefully at the maps, checked our compasses, and discovered we had walked six miles in the wrong direction. We’d been twisted around so often we ended up lost. To compound matters, Nancy had become sick and was vomiting.
We were frustrated with our two leaders for not making the right decisions to get us to Penner Lake. The frustrations surfaced with caustic barbs like, “Hey, did you check your compass?” or, “I sure hope we’re not going in the wrong direction still!” But we felt anger toward the guides for not telling us where we had gone wrong. We felt our vulnerability was being exploited; it was our first full day on the trail. The guides could have straightened us out; instead they remained silent.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” I said. “You didn’t ask us,” they replied. “This is how you learn.” These guys were being careless with us, I thought. But they had told us this was our trip, and they were just there to insure our safety.
We had to decide whether we should stop there for the night and send scouts ahead for water, or keep going. Someone suggested we let Nancy have the final word. We agreed. We were beginning to see that if we really loved each other, we had to accept one another’s weaknesses and be sensitive to them. It was a matter of relinquishing our personal goals so the weakest member could regain strength and hope. Nancy was moved by this; she agreed to try to make it to Penner Lake.
When the cool, refreshing waters of Penner Lake came into view, we all rejoiced. Some even jumped into the lake and just drank it in. We washed our hair, scrubbed our faces, and then rested while Stu and Ann prepared a meal. I had clashed with Ann during the day because I thought she’d been mouthy and insensitive Observing her willingness to serve others by preparing supper gave me a different picture of her. She pitched right in and gave of herself while the rest of us had fun.
This was one of the greatest benefits of our trip. I saw each staff member in a setting different from the daily office routine. At the office I see each person through the lens of his role in church leadership. On the hike I saw the whole person, with the many sides and gifts that make up a personality, and I found this helpful.
I remember a young man named Ron, who brought an extremely negative personality into the fellowship at Trinity. The scars of a drug-oriented lifestyle made him suspicious and elusive; he was difficult to be with. When he finally took on responsibilities of working with young people in settings other than at the church, we saw his personality. He had a subtle sense of humor and compassion that made us fond of him. We never would have seen that in his limited sphere of involvement in the church.
On the hike, we were allowed to bring only dried foods, but no steak ever tasted as good as the stew Ann made. We broke bread together, and when the sun went down we sang songs around the fire. As Ann added more wood to the flames, one of the men joked, “That’s a white man’s fire. The Indians burned only what was needed to do the job.” Our shared laughter felt good.
The guides, John and Bob, grew more personable, and we began to appreciate them for their silent yet competent guidance and friendship. They urged us to pump out all our feelings about the day. “What do you feel?” they asked us. “How did you handle the day?”
Dan began by confessing his macho inclinations to wander away from the group. It had robbed him of the opportunity to serve; he had done it selfishly, glorying in his independence. I shared my personal resentment of Dan’s actions. We were supposed to climb the last ridge as a team, but when we got split up, I fell into a wasps’ nest and was stung five times.
All of us expressed our difficulty in coping with Nancy’s sickness. We’d been fearful, resentful, and sympathetic during the day; after confessing these feelings we were more understanding of her predicament. Ivan, one of the leaders that day, shared his grief in leading us miles in the wrong direction.
He told how difficult it was to regain his self-respect.
Our petty judgments and bitternesses poured out under John’s and Bob’s careful guidance. Once everything was out in the open, we each felt love and honesty and acceptance we’d never experienced before in the confines of our church offices and one-dimensional job descriptions.
* * *
The wind must have blown those feelings all away during the night, however, for in the morning I turned my head to the sky and said, “(oh, horrors, I can’t believe this.” Ann and Sherry were assuming leadership for that day. “I’m not going to trust them,” I thought.
We set out on a three-mile trek toward a place called Rock Lake. The compasses showed we were heading in the right direction, but the maps showed Rock Lake at an elevation of 7,200 feet, which meant we’d have to ascend steadily from 6,000 feet.
Instead, we descended steadily until several of us knew we were on the wrong course. We advised Ann and Sherry of this, but they opted to continue.
When we came within sight of a lake, Stu looked at his map and said, “Hey, that’s not Rock Lake, it’s Sawmill Lake!” We were lost again, 2,000 feet below our destination.
We panicked, of course. To be lost for the second day in a row seemed overwhelming. How could this have happened? The desire to blame someone, anyone, loomed over us like an oppressive cloud. Ann and Sherry felt threatened and hurt, and finally relinquished their leadership.
We reset our compasses, checked the maps, and eventually arrived at Rock Lake, where once again we sat down to air our feelings. “It’s foolish to be upset with each other,” we agreed. “We’re in this together.” When you’re lost in the High Sierras, and you must painfully retrace every wayward step, it’s amazing how quickly you accuse and how abruptly you reject patient dialogue to lash out at others. Interpersonal conflicts, which get smoothed over in the course of daily activities back at the office, surface with surprising hostility.
We admitted all of this to ourselves and to each other as we ate lunch at Rock Lake. Again a bubble of love burst around us, and we found the grace to forgive and the will to forget. Hanging together under adverse conditions is difficult, but it’s necessary if you’re going to learn the grace of how to function as a team. We were learning that grace- painfully. We saw each other at our worst, in our fears and weaknesses. We saw each other in our strengths and abilities too. A fresh kind of trust and acceptance was budding, yet it was still in a very fragile state.
The following two days were the hardest physically, but our tender feelings for each other grew. Sherry still closed herself off from us, but we no longer felt uncomfortable with her.
She later confessed to all of us that God had been dealing with her throughout the hike; that her heart had become somewhat hardened toward God, and she was resisting his patient intervention in her life. We loved Sherry and tried to help her through her struggle, but it was not until months later that she saw what God had wanted to teach her. She’d wanted total control of her life, conforming God’s will into her own desires, and it’s been a joy to see her relinquish that control. It took a long time to see how the hike benefited her.
My attitude toward Ann continued to improve. I began to see her deep sense of compassion. When someone ran out of water, she was the first to offer her canteen. She offered to lighten a backpack and bandage a sore foot. I still saw her weaknesses, but they were slowly being overshadowed by her concern for others.
When darkness came on our last night in the wilderness, the guides took each of us to an isolated spot and left us to fast for about fourteen hours. We hadn’t eaten since lunch and were allowed to keep nothing more than our canteens, sleeping bags, and writing materials. The guides suggested we write out the insights gained through our trials on the hike.
What I felt that night cannot be fully captured by words. The only metaphor that comes to mind is that of a garden hose with the kinks taken out, allowing the water to flow. I felt free of every obstacle that had intimidated me during the hike; free to love and care for my fellow staff members; free to plunge back into my ministry in Seattle; free to let my best in Christ be totally restored. I felt genuinely excited about my life, and in my journal wrote, “Lord, I hope this is not just momentary euphoria. But even if it is, I thank you for restoring a feeling of wholeness T thought I’d lost.”
Meanwhile, scattered throughout the wooded terrain, my co-workers were writing similar reflections:
“At one point on the hike I felt so naked and vulnerable, I just needed those around to love and reassure that they would not betray me. I needed them to pray that God would continue his work in my life.”
“I can’t stand conflict. It drives me crazy. I want all of my relationships to be smooth, without mishaps. When something goes wrong, I immediately jump in and try to straighten it out. But what usually happens is that I compromise who I am. I let others control me. I need to wait, listen, and love while others work out their own conflicts.”
“Tonight I got as comfortable as possible in my sleeping bag. I leaned against a tree, looked up at the stars, and began to pray. As I sat there, I felt God’s love well up in my heart and fill me full. I’m not an emotional person, but I deeply felt his unconditional love-regardless of my personal failures.”
“On the hike I felt very defeated in my personal goals, only to realize that these mistakes were the very things that endeared me to the rest of the staff. Being a self-assured backpacker with a macho attitude separated me from them; being a real person who got upset with my wife, and who made mistakes, brought me back.”
Being alone with our thoughts and meditations cleansed us all. I vividly remember the appreciation I felt for God’s creation. I watched the sun rise and set while the only sound was the rushing water of the stream next to me.
On the final day the truck picked up our packs, and the guides told us to get ready for the run back. “Put on your tennis shoes and the lightest clothes you have,” they said. Then they showed us a six-mile path we were to run, stopping for momentary rests only. Before we had a chance to complain, the guides took off, leading the way. I don’t think any of us would have complained though; by this point we were willing to try anything.
A few years ago I had the veins stripped out of my legs and now have very little feeling in them; thus I fell behind most of the others. I really wanted to finish the run though. After the first three miles I had to stop and walk. My legs were numb so I walked a couple of hundred yards. When I started jogging again, I literally could not feel my legs and feared I would stumble to the ground. Someone hollered, “Gib, you can make it!” This got me to the last mile, which was downhill.
On the final hundred-yard stretch, those who had finished ran to meet me and just about carried me to the finish line. It was very emotional; there were no tears, just a lot of hugging, rejoicing, exhaustion, and exhilaration.
All of us, including the guides, sat in a stream, ate fresh cantaloupe, and basked in the euphoria of accomplishing something very difficult-together. A feeling of oneness splashed over us like a wave on the ocean shore.
“Did you make it without stopping!” “No, I had to walk a couple of times.”
“Would you do it again?” “I’m not sure. How about you?”
“Never! But I wouldn’t give up what I’ve gained from this for a million bucks.”
I think we all knew we were emotionally high and would level off once the excitement was over. But a tested camaraderie had developed over our six days of hiking in the wilderness, and we sensed it was here to stay.
* * *
The hike through the mountains helped turn our staff into a team. Good group dynamics can be seen as a shaping, carving, and sanding process by which diverse personalities meld with one another. Now we trust each other like never before, and we feel free to share our work in the church.
Recently, Stu asked me to help him counsel a young man who has been giving his parents fits. During the session, the young man became extremely angry, picked up a plant from my desk and threw it against the wall. Instead of panicking, I looked at Stu and he looked back. An unspoken, reassuring strength flowed between us, and we knew we were with a teammate who would provide support even in the worst of circumstances. I recognized in that feeling one more of the many lasting benefits the wilderness trip gave our staff.
Copyright © 1981 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
