Campus expert.
Several years older.
Winsome.
Articulate.
Well-versed in theology
and fine wine.


I put him on a pedestal
above every other seminarian I knew.


Then the pedestal cracked.
He was exposed as a fraud.


I learned. 
I grew.


Never again, I said,
would I put a leader on a pedestal.


Experienced church leader.
Successful ministries.
A leader in this one.
I was honored to be his intern.
But he forgot me.
“I have to step out
for just a minute,” he said.
More than an hour later,
I was still sitting
in his office.


I learned. 
I grew.


Leaders are not statues.


“Just meet students", he said.
Three months of meeting students.
No leading Bible studies,
No large group meetings
or events to draw students.


Meet them where they are.


The ministry flourished.

I began to learn:
leadership was less about being right
than being with.


I didn’t need a pedestal.
I didn’t need to pretend I was a statue.
I could just be
a person
among people.


I learned.
I grew.


Normal.
Ordinary.


But a pastor.


Where was the piety?
The religious language?
The well-trimmed hair, suit and tie?

Could a pastor simply be a person?

I watched what he did.
We talked about it.
He watched what I did.
We talked about it.

Mentoring.

No statue.
No pedestal.


I learned. 
I grew.

He trusted me.

His kids were in my youth group.
“I don’t agree with your approach,” he said.
“But you’re the expert here.”


No statue.
No pedestal.


I learned. I grew.

“The church isn’t growing,” he said.
“Just do what I did,” I said.
He came back in tears.
“You didn’t listen.
You didn’t hear me.
Your words hurt.”


I had mistaken
my experience
for his answer.


I had become the expert.
The statue.


This time the pedestal was mine.


I learned
I grew


Your model is not viable. It will fail.
You're no fundraiser. It will fail.
I remembered.

No one had climbed onto the pedestal.
I had put them there.


I learned.
I grew.


She was the expert in marketing.
I followed.
I didn’t like it.
I followed anyway.
It failed.


He had years of fundraising experience.
It felt perfunctory,
impersonal,
everything I thought fundraising
should not be.
I followed.
It failed.


I had forgotten, again. Pedestals.


I learned.
I grew.



And still, people knew things
I needed to learn.

“Past success does not mean culture fit.
Trust your instincts,” she said.


“They are not ATMs,” he said.


“I know you want to ask.
Just ask,” she said.

I learned. 
I grew.

Eventually,
there was no pedestal.

Just people
with experience,
wisdom,
blind spots,
scars,
and things to teach.

Right sometimes.
Wrong sometimes.

Just like me.

Photo by author. “Fährmann, hol’ über!” — Sculpture in Speyer, Germany. .