I learned a lot from an almost-career-ending mistake I made very early in my ministry.
I was in my first solo appointment. My bishop, W. T. Handy, Jr., had made a couple of statements I strongly disagreed with. I wrote a letter to my immediate boss, the District Superintendent, that outlined my reasons in fairly blunt terms. I ended with, “I’d welcome a meeting with the bishop to discuss this matter.”
I really didn’t. I was just venting to my DS, whom I had known for a while and felt he wouldn’t share the letter with the episcopal leader of Missouri.
A few days later, the phone rang. A baritone voice greeted me. “Is Greg Weeks there?” “This is he.” “W. T. Handy here. I understand you want to meet with me.”
I literally paused and looked at the telephone receiver in my hand. It was a good career, I thought, followed by, So, what do I have to lose now? I responded, “Yes I do, bishop.” And we set up a time.
Sweating, a few days later I went to his office. He was gracious and understanding of this 27-year-old rookie pastor. He listened, said he understood, then shared his thoughts. I stood up to leave. He motioned for me to sit down. For the next half-hour we talked about something we could both agree on. It was the deep theological issue of St. Louis Cardinals baseball and their chances in 1981.
Before finally leaving, though, he gave me with some advice. “My daddy taught me an important lesson. If I’m angry, I can write a letter, but he told me to wait three days before mailing it. If I was still mad after three days, I could send it.” He paused for dramatic effect, then concluded: “Never once did I ever mail an angry letter.”
Point taken.
And it’s a point that our world, thanks to social media, has either forgotten or ignored.
Wait before spouting off.
It’s harder to do that today because 2026 isn’t 1981. I could have sat on that letter for three days. I could have used that time to consider things from the bishop’s perspective as to why he had declared what he did. What did he see that I didn’t? Pausing would have guaranteed that I wouldn’t have mailed it, or that I would have at least expressed myself in less volatile tones.
But for some reason when we read a Facebook post that ticks us off, our knee-jerk reaction is to counter-post. We have only brief pausing and little questioning (like “Is this AI generated to tick me off?”). It seems we think that if we immediately respond, it will make us feel better.
And along with this primary lesson comes a second one.
Have the guts to meet face-to-face.
The bishop could have just replied with a letter. Or he could have had the District Superintendent deal with me. Rather, he picked up the phone and invited me to meet so we could talk. The result was a conversation that led to understanding and to even a Cardinals-induced friendship.
Would the angry posts we read have been posted if the poster were saying it directly to someone’s face? It doesn’t take much courage to spout off behind the cover of the internet. But to pick up the phone and invite someone you disagree with to have coffee and a conversation…that’s bravery and integrity.
To use a phrase from Lincoln, the “better angels of our nature” call us to build relationships and community and not tear down and divide. Bishop Handy, decades ago, taught me that.
And in the age of social media, more than ever, it’s a lesson we must learn and practice.