During a conversation with my friend Angie Ward, I made a passing comment that the American church could learn some things from the Congolese church. “Would you come on my podcast and talk about that?” she asked.
“Sure,” I responded.
I’m not a theologian, a church historian, an anthropologist, or anyone with credentialed authority. I only have a little personal experience.
As the date for the interview neared, the self-doubt gremlins began nipping at my heals. “Who are you to talk about this? What do you know? You’re no expert on Congo. You’re no expert on church.” But I didn’t want to back down. I had agreed to do this interview.
This idea of the American church learning from the Congolese church was not an original idea of mine. It was a theme that bubbled up in conversations with friends over the past seven or eight years.
With the interview ten days away. I started jotting down notes. My thoughts were scattered. I struggled to remember concrete examples to illustrate the few points that showed up on paper. I panicked. I didn’t want to let Angie down and pull out. I didn’t want to sound like a fool (probably closer to the truth).
Experience has taught me that strength, knowledge, and wisdom show up when I admit my weaknesses (and ignorance and stupidity). So I dashed off WhatsApp messages, “Help!”
Friends came through. An hour-long conversation with Jessica put shape to notes and added examples. Emily pointed out a theme I had missed. Noé and Bethany shared a poignant perspective.
Asking for help is not an easy thing. It means admitting our weaknesses. When we ask for help, we concede that we don’t know it all. Sometimes the help we receive betrays our blindspots. Sometimes it exposes our mistakes. Asking for help isn’t comfortable.
But asking for help does allow the strength, knowledge, and wisdom of others to side up next to us and help us on our way.
By the way, if you’re interested in “bold conversations about the church,” check out Church Matters and Church Chats podcasts.