In the summer of 1980, I needed a job. Home from college and desperate to make some money, I soon found myself wearing a white button-down shirt, swinging a microphone, and driving trams of tourists around old Sacramento: “On your left, the famous riverfront. On your right, the historic train museum.”

Interestingly enough, ten years later I was still running tours for a living—not of Sacramento, but of Christian Spirituality. As a teaching pastor at a megachurch, I was responsible to help people move along in their spiritual journey—to help them get from Point A to Point B and eventually to heaven.

Every now and then, I also had the privilege of showing them out-of-the-way places. Sites like Forest Home, the very camp where Sunday school teacher Henrietta Mears challenged Billy Graham and Bill Bright to go change the world. Talk about an evangelical Kodak moment.

In 1993, we held our annual men’s retreat at Forest Home and I not only sat where Billy Graham sat, but I also had the opportunity to speak into the lives of 500 men. Guided meditations, small-group discussions—we did it all. At the end of the weekend, we gathered the group for a big, “bang-the-drum” wrap-up session. As part of this time, we opened the mic and invited participants to share and encourage one another.

I can’t remember everyone who spoke during that open mic session. I can’t remember who went first or second or third. I actually remember what only one man said. Why? Because something he said touched me at a level so deep I thought it might destroy me.

He talked about his relationship with his father and about all the time he had spent that year processing his childhood to make peace with his past. He told of missed baseball games and forgotten birthdays, longed-for hugs and overlooked trophies. It was like listening to Harry Chapin’s “Cat’s in the Cradle”—the story of a father who didn’t have time for his son and the son who grew up to return the favor.

The more he talked, the more I identified with his story. Then he threw a sharp-breaking curve ball: “I’ve come to see that actually I’ve been the guilty one,” he said. “All those things I thought were issues with my father were really about me.”

What?

My heart pounded. My chin began to quiver. My breathing became labored. He was telling my story—except the last part. This man had found freedom from his past, healing from the wounds of childhood, and a peace that I knew nothing… (from the book) more>>>

In chapter two, I explore the concept of leadership.  The metaphors are “tour guide” and “traveler.”

“For centuries, the tour guide metaphor has dominated our religious experience.  We’ve defined evangelism and spiritual leadership in terms of a hierarchical relationship:  one person finds the way and tells someone else how to get there.  By contrast, the church of the future—the emerging church—would seem to embrace a more collaborative leadership model. The metaphor is that of a traveler—someone who is ‘on the way,’ journeying with us.”

I share a story from my life about being a tram driver in Sacramento one summer. That experience was all about a set route, itinerary and script. I contrast this experience with one I had while a pastor in a modern mega church. It was a moment in time when I chose to move from tour guide to traveler, being honest and vulnerable with those that I was leading.

That experience—moving from tour guide with all the answers to fellow traveler with some answers, some questions, and much empathy—is the framework for TheOoze message board conversations about leadership. “In these posts, you hear the call to move away from a secular business model and instead find something that more closely matches Jesus Christ’s example.”

This chapter invites you to explore where you are on the continuum between tour guide and traveler.