Consider the geese in their chevrons
learning from birds how to lead and follow
Remember when the unofficial theme of this blog was “reflections on birds by someone who knows nothing about birds”? It’s okay if you don’t; I do. I’m thinking of:
I still wouldn’t really call myself a birder. But I’ve been noticing birds more, finding myself a little more interested in who they are and what they’re doing. And also a little more interested in learning from people who know birds much better than I do.
So, when I heard of a book called Birding to Change the World, I was intrigued.
I gave it a read, and it’s definitely one of my personal favorites so far this year. Highly recommend.
These days, I find myself thinking often of that time when Jesus suggested that we consider the birds—with the implication that we might observe birds and learn from them (a little more on the Greek here).
I like this because it feels like such a beautiful, gentle way of being. It’s such a far cry from what most evangelicals are told to spend most of their time doing. A far cry from the posturing we see from politicians and others in power, or who want to be. (Anyone watch last night’s debacle of a presidential debate?)
I’m always intrigued by people’s reflections on what exactly they learn as they watch birds. Personally, birds have helped me reflect on things like not-yet-seen community and unexpected brief connections between strangers.
For Trish O’Kane, the author of Birding to Change the World, birds helped her think about leadership, activism, and burnout. About geese, she reflects:
“The chevrons they form when flying overhead in the spring like lines of haiku are also an ingenious way to save energy—as much as 30 percent—allowing the flock to fly 70 percent further…The lead goose creates a wake of air behind it, just like a boat in the water. Each flapping follower benefits from the lift created by the goose flapping ahead of it. The birds synchronize their flapping and switch positions constantly. I’ve been a member of too many political organizations where the leadership became worn out and stagnant and finally burned out. It seems as if geese have found the solution to activist burnout” (210).
Isn’t that something?
Perhaps birds can teach us how to take turns leading, how to follow one another well, how to support one another, how not to burn out. Don’t we need all these things, so much?
I don’t know about you, but in my life I’ve often felt like leadership is held up as something to aspire to. People in leadership positions are respected and honored. Youth programs emphasize leadership development. In college* we were often told that we were future leaders, or should be, or should want to be. Church programs aim to raise up leaders.
None of this is exactly bad; certainly workplaces, churches, cities, counties, and other communities all need good leadership. We all need people to step up and seek to guide and care for the community well. Taking on a leadership role can be a noble calling.
It’s also not for everyone—or at least not for everyone all the time.
What I love about the image of flocks of geese flying in their chevrons is that every goose is equal. They’re all capable of leading, and they all see each other that way. But this doesn’t mean anyone should be leading everything all the time.
Everyone benefits when everyone rotates through different roles, taking turns with the more wearying roles especially so that everyone can continue to thrive and move toward their destination together.
They’re looking out for each other. No one cares who gets there first; they all move together, and they all do what it takes to make sure they can keep moving together—monitoring their own energy levels and one another’s energy levels to maintain a healthy balance.
Perhaps this is a good follow-up to last week’s reflections on being sucked into one all-consuming religious community versus enjoying being a part of many different communities.
As I sort out my relationship to church post-evangelicalism, as someone who still wants to be part of a faith community but also wants to relate to it differently from how I related to church in the past, I aspire to learn from the geese. To take the lead on things occasionally, when I’m excited and energized to do so. More often, to follow along and support others in the things they’re excited about leading. To participate when I’m able to and want to, and not to hesitate to take any sort of step back at any time for any reason.
Because I don’t need to be at the center of things. I don’t need to be the kind of all-in leader who earns everyone’s respect and admiration for her devotion to the cause.
I want to be a part of a community where we’re all going somewhere together, and we’re all taking turns doing our part in that. Where we’re building something together, something that looks like love and justice and flourishing for everyone. Something that doesn’t care about religious celebrities and doesn’t get tricked into thinking anyone is holier or better or closer to God than anyone else.
Consider the geese in their chevrons, indeed. Perhaps they can help us learn to be healthier individuals, avoiding burnout—and healthier communities together, where everyone’s gifts are seen and honored and everyone operates as equals.
*Okay fine, I went to Stanford, but I’m sure this isn’t entirely unique? Curious to hear others’ thoughts & experiences.
How about you? What are you learning from birds, or from other kinds of critters? Or, have you experienced this kind of community, where people rotate and take turns leading, like geese? I’d love to hear.