This is part of a loose series chronicling random thoughts on presidential history and how it pertains to leadership generally and ministry leadership in particular. You can read my last entry on William Howard Taft here.
In our last meeting a couple weeks before his graduation, Jordan, the student leader I’d been coaching, confessed to me he’d been having inappropriate relationships with people of the same gender. The way he described it was that he could go weeks, months even, with no hiccups then randomly, seemingly inexplicably, find himself on a binge of hookups and one-night stands.
I was completely baffled. Jordan lived in community. Not just any community. He lived in community with one of his staff workers. When asked about it, he explained to me his staff knew but never bothered to inform his coworker. Instead, he allowed Jordan to lead and didn’t do much by way of seeking out any additional help.
Though the precise reason Jordan told me this escapes me, I imagine part of it was because this was how he was ending his time on campus. Instead of leaving in triumph, he was walking away with shame and regret.
It was Aristotle who introduced to us the concept of hamartia— the flaw in character or an error in judgment that ultimately causes the downfall of a person. For some it’s greed. For others, it’s pride. For Ulysses S. Grant, the General who led the Union to victory over the Confederates in the Civil War and the 18th President of the United States, it was his alcoholism.
According to family diaries, Grant’s grandfather struggled with alcohol. Ulysses, however, really began his struggle during his time in the Mexican-American War. It became such a problem that after a particularly significant incident, Grant’s commanding officer threatened to demand his resignation if he caught him drinking again. When he was eventually caught again, he was given two options: be dishonorably discharged and face court martial or resign. He would choose the latter. Rumors of Grant’s alcoholism plagued him everywhere he went. Even in his sober spouts, it was the constant criticism and assault of his character. It followed him the rest of his life. Even now, when we talk about him, we can’t sidestep it. Some go so far as to say the throat cancer that would eventually claim his life was also influenced by years of alcohol abuse.
Interestingly enough though, for all the trouble Grant had with alcoholism, he never drank during battle in the Civil War. He only went near a bottle when he was away from the front and looking for a way to release pressure. Later, when his life got out of control and he tried to set it right by writing his biography, he was able to stay away from the substance again. Basically, as long as Grant had something of ultimate importance, something that demanded his whole person, sobriety would come naturally. It was in the absence of the something ultimate that he would settle for less than penultimate things. I think this is instructive.
I still remember the first time I realized I only had so many hours in a day. I was a college student faced with mounting schoolwork and a burgeoning social life. It seemed to me, that the more time I spent engaging in lesser things, the less time I had to spend on things that truly mattered. Consequently, the more time I spent on things that truly mattered, the less time I had to give to frivolous and unfruitful activities. Then I met Jesus and suddenly I got really busy. Between leading Bible studies, discipling other students, and living life in community, there was no time for double lives or secret sins. This is the power of telos.
When we have a purpose, some ultimate end that we are working toward, all our attention gets aimed in that direction. We recognize the limits of our time and energy, and we choose to invest it where it really matters. Without that ultimate sense of purpose, the sense that we’re working toward something meaningful, we will succumb to our vices.
The good news is that, as Christians, we don’t have to go very far for something ultimate. If Scripture is to be believed, God is on a mission to reconcile heaven and earth and each of us have a vital part to play in this great enterprise. There is a cosmic battle between good and evil and the stakes couldn’t be any higher. The question is if we remember. While it certainly isn’t a prescription for everything, what if part of how we overcome our vices is to get busy with something more important and beautiful?
Even as I write this, I’m aware of the inherent complications of this idea. The first being that we don’t get rid of bad habits as much as we replace them with better ones. We might get busy and sometimes, in our preoccupation, look up to find it’s been weeks or months since we last struggled with a particular problem but that doesn’t mean the problem is gone. While it is possible that our desires have changed, it is equally possible that our temptations waited for right the moment to rear their ugly heads and like Jesus in the desert, we’ll have to face them head-on.
Secondly, busyness doesn’t completely safeguard us against our demons as much as it just makes us a bit less accessible. Stories abound of busy people whose ambition gave birth to cataclysmic moral failures. The exhaustion from fighting on one front left them susceptible to attack on another. Idle hands may be the devil’s workshop, but an unguarded heart is his playground. We must remember the fight we’re in, guard our hearts, and get busy playing our part in the story of God. Maybe then we have a better shot at overcoming the fatal flaws that threaten to undo us.
But, at the risk of making this post unnecessarily long, I do think there is another lesson to be learned from the life of Ulysses S. Grant. Namely, the power of perception. For all the talk surrounding his alcoholism, historians disagree as to whether Grant was actually an alcoholic. While there’s unanimous agreement he had an unhealthy relationship with the substance, the nature of that relationship is unclear. One interpretation is that Grant was a high-functioning alcoholic who could go long periods without touching a drink. More generous interpretations classify him as a binge drinker born in a time with stricter cultural mores. But in some ways, it didn’t matter whether Ulysses S. Grant was an alcoholic. Because he was perceived that way, that became the truth. Billie Jean, anyone?
Whether or not we want to admit it, part of leadership is how others perceive us. If we weren’t seen as worth following, no one would follow us. While some types of authority are granted through institutions and more official agencies, real spiritual authority is granted to us in the heart and eyes of another.
Years ago, I completed a master’s program in ministry leadership and one of the key findings of my research was how critical trust is to the work of a leader. It is the primary currency we deal in and when trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to recover. The problem is that trust takes time to rebuild and, in the thick of battle, time is the one thing you don’t have. You have work to do. Best case scenario, people trust your technical competence enough to work alongside you. But in many instances, it’s easier for the leader to step aside so that someone who is trusted can continue the mission effectively.
That being said, it’s worth noting you can’t be responsible for everyone’s opinions of you. Trying to control the narrative will only leave you more exhausted and distracted from the thing you’re actually supposed to be doing. Not to mention that in some cases, people will have a certain view of you precisely because of the convictions you live by. The call then is to live above reproach, to conduct your life in light of God’s character. This is 1 Peter 2, “Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us.” The accusations may come, rumors may abound, but we know vindication is on the way. The story of Daniel is a perfect example of this.
Sitting with Jordan in my office that day I was reminded that the jury is still out as long as we’re alive. Every moment is pregnant with the possibility of redemption and reinvention. Grant did not win every skirmish he came into while leading the Union, but he found a way to win when it mattered. Though he would go on to be a terrible president (once again, many of the things that made him great as a General would undercut him in this new role), when it came down to end of his life, he found a way to reverse his fortunes. This should give us hope. If we can hold on to something ultimate and live above reproach, we may be able to overcome the besetting sins that threaten us at every juncture and come out triumphant in the end.
Tomy Wilkerson 