Hello, My Name Is Bruce

“There are a lot of sharks in this business.”

When I worked in the world of finance, that was one of our often-quoted rallying cries.  At my last position in the industry, I talked to people as they withdrew money from their 401(k) plans.  My time there coincided with the economic downturn of 2008.  A lot of less scrupulous, or perhaps just incompetent financial advisors sold their clients on the value of annuities.  An annuity is a financial product where you give a company your money, and in return, they promise you a certain percentage of income return (this is a severe oversimplification, but bear with me).  The benefit is there is not much risk—you are usually guaranteed at least a minimum return.  The downside is you give up control of your money, and the return you get is likely less than you would receive in the market.  When the market is good, this is a tough sell; the market may pay out 12%, while you get only 6%.  But in bad times, this is an easy sell.  Yet it still may not be the best product.  To avoid two or three years of a bad market, you may lose control of your funds for more than ten years.  An annuity is a great product for people in the right situation.  But for most people, it is a very bad fit.

Why did so many financial advisors prey on the emotions of their clients?  An annuity paid the advisor often three or four times the commission they could make on another account.  We saw client after client fall for these “sharks.”  The sharks would jump into the business, paint us as the “evil corporation,” sell as many annuities as possible, take the large payouts, then get out of the industry before they had to deal with the fallout.  At the time I was there, the average financial advisor was out of the business in three years (I contacted a friend who is a financial advisor and definitely not a “shark,” who told me the accurate number now is about two years).

There are great financial advisors out there.  I am happy to call some of them my friends.  But they are tasked with an unenviable task:  living up to an unbelievably high standard, helping others overcome those sharks, and proving without a doubt that they are different.

I have since left the financial world, and transitioned to a life of vocational ministry.  Do you know what I have learned?  There are a lot of sharks in this business as well.  In fact, there are a lot of sharks in every business.  Ministry is not immune.  This past week provided more than its share of reminders.  Last week, the story of a pastor in Tempe, Arizona that advocates for the killing of homosexuals crossed the news cycle.  All around the United States, “pastors” are using racial tensions to espouse their own biases and hatred rather than be a prophetic voice of faith, hope, and love.  And we all know people who have been hurt by other pastors, whether through unintentional action, or just plain callousness.  There are a lot of sharks in this business.

My natural response is to say, “Well, I’m not like that.”  But this is a dangerous line of thinking.  When I was working in the financial world, none of these “sharks” thought they were sharks.  Few, if any, really intended to become sharks.  It was a series of compromises that seemed necessary at the time that led to their evolution.

Instead of looking at myself as human and the others as sharks, it might be more accurate to say that “My name is Bruce, and fish are friends, not food.”  In the movie Finding Nemo, Bruce is the shark that is trying to overcome his nature to live in harmony with his fish neighbors, always aware that a few moments of inattentiveness will lead him back to a dangerous place.  This is perhaps a better image for who I am and the role I play.  I strive to not be a shark, but I certainly have the terrible potential.  I will be saved not by my rugged good looks and charm, but only by constant submersion in the Holy Spirit.  Even a few moments of inattentiveness can lead to dangerous places.

And that inattentiveness comes when we begin to view others as “it” and not “thou.”  Martin Buber, in his book, “I and Thou,” talks about the essential relationship between us and another.  We must always see our relationship with others as “I” and “Thou.”  Because this is exhausting, we sometimes fall into relationships based on role, become “I” and “It.”  But when this becomes the default, we get into dangerous territory.  We become the sharks.  It becomes easy for us to justify any behavior as necessary when we see people as dysfunctional obstacles, opportunities to grow our churches, sources of income, allies in conflict, or any other number of impersonal designations.  Whether intentionally or unintentionally, we become the sharks when we no longer see the other as a cherished individual, created in the image of God.

There are a lot of sharks in this business.  But my name is Bruce, and fish are friends, not food.