I’m always hesitant about stepping into leadership in my community. I feel called to share my gifts, and resist the glare of the spotlight. Scrutiny is a difficult thing, but my religious community prides itself on being fully human in all the places of our lives. We encourage and embrace each other as we flail and fall, dust off our knees, and rise to the task again and again. We neither coddle nor punish weakness. Sometimes we punish strength. We walk the edges – try not to fall into codependence, hold our boundaries, and push through our discomfort.
When I’m around other leaders, particularly the charismatic ones, I sidle up to them hoping for rub-off. Charisma rub-off, sure. Confidence by proximity? Please! What I really want, though, is a shield of protection. Not from failure, but from a community that claims to want fallible leaders while lambasting them if they are. We say don’t divorce body from Spirit then enact the same hypocrisies we rail against in mainstream religion. We say we live our religion embodied, Spirit in our living breathing flesh. We are human and divine both. We believe this to be true of our co-religionists and of all the peoples of the world. We celebrate this in our rituals. We cheer it when it’s spoken. And when a beloved leader shows fully how incredibly human they are and fails in a big way we rake them across the coals as if this wasn’t the very leadership role we built for them.
Whenever I get the wee bug that bites me with a desire to travel outside of my local community to teach I only need wait a month or so to have that wistful wish swept away by yet another exposé arrogantly showcasing the flaws of a (usually former) teacher or leader. It’s done with a vengeance and a wide vocabulary, including all the current buzzwords of horror, while forgetting the very humanness we begged for. Forgetting we chose this leader because they were authentic, and real, and relatable. *auto-disclaimer – I am not speaking of leaders who are wholly unethical, engage in illegal activity, and whose actions should be known and prosecuted. I’m talking about everyday human flaws, even large ones, including but not limited to unhealthy coping pattens and recognizable symptoms of un/disclosed illness, addictions, etc.*
In my Reclaiming community we strive to create spaces that are safe and open to folks with addictions and/or in recovery, to those with treated and resistant to treatment mental illnesses, to the disenfranchised. We do so with intention and with pride in our shared values. Until we see one or more of these things in a leader. Then we struggle for empathy, feel cheated, and want to lash out – how dare they be human?! We didn’t mean this when we asked for fallible leaders.
We engage with leaders who have skills we desire to learn. Sometimes we see their flaws large and naked, and feel some damage from those flaws running over people unattended and unmentioned. Sometimes we push back, usually not for long. We opt instead for putting our head down and plodding on because we still desire their skills. Maybe we stand against them at first, maybe we’re too new or in awe to fight much, and if we stay part of that staying is because they still have something we want, flaws or not. We push down guilt and we reattach to the teat of their knowledge well until we’ve drained it, sated that want. It’s what we came for, what we’ve worked or paid for, after all. It should be ours. And when we’re done we trot off with our shiny new tools.
We take these tools back to our communities, fine-tune them, make them our own and more useful to us, trim them for those we encounter in ritual and workshop spaces. We put just enough distance between our old leaders and ourselves to turn that eye of hindsight on them, without empathy, shrugging off our complicity without irony. We’ve written this story in the expanse of time between our thirsty need and the more skilled us we’ve become. “We’re so much better, smarter, more aware than they were,” we tell ourselves, conveniently forgetting they too have shifted in that space of time. We write and rewrite, removing the taint from us and applying it to them, and our final edit says that their very real failures are unforgivable, untenable, and impossible to understand because those failures dared to occur in a community leader. No mercy.
A beloved, fallible, this-is-what-we-claim-to-want in a leader person receives no sanctuary from their pagan community. Welcoming arms fold and eyes that shone with divinity now slit to disgust. We don’t check back with folks who knew them then and know them now. We rarely research to see if they’ve been held accountable by anyone, or offered amends to anyone. And frequently we don’t only take down our fallen leader, we take down everyone who was around them at the time – co-leaders, students, apprentices, and staff. We take down everyone except us, and confidently announce what must have been collusion on their part, while ignoring our own. We’ve written this story and in it we’re either hero or victim, denying our part in the unhealthy dynamic. We wear the same blinders we did back when we were too busy taking the final suck before releasing the teat, letting loose a quiet burp our future supporters would never hear.
Yeah, I think I’ll stick to leading locally. I may be raked over the coals for my real or perceived failings, but at least those folks usually have to look me in the eye to do it.
What a piece to launch my pagan blog here with, eh? I can’t wait to see what I write next!