Chapter 22 – The Council’s Decision
The day of the Sanhedrin Council Meeting…
In last week’s episode, David encounters an angel. In this week’s episode, the Sanhedrin Council reaches a critical decision…
The Rabban nodded his head in agreement. It’s about time we took a break.
Most traditional organizational approaches rely on some form of command-and-control scheme for issuing orders and completing tasks. In contrast, consensus-building activities require participants to be willing to move away from their own, often deeply held, positions. Typically, this process requires a compromise, where both parties lose something to reach an agreement.
The Sanhedrin Council always actively sought to avoid the alternative outcome where one party loses while the other party wins. The Council’s intentional adoption of this attitude went against the grain of human nature, and over many years they’d learned that most people are not effective in a consensus-building environment.
Still, there was a third alternative. These moments were rare, but the Council felt that when they came, the transformative power was so great that it made all of the struggle and effort of consensus-building worthwhile. The third alternative was achieved when both parties gained more by working together than either expected or planned.
Dr. Larbonne proposed this discernment question to the assembly; “Do we believe it is God’s will for us to send the St. Paul to Tanzania?” The discussions were over, and now space was provided for all members to be alone to seek inner confirmation of their decisions.
Monsignor Mendoza, ever considerate for the needs of others, helped the Rabban to his feet and escorted him to the bathroom.
“Do you think I push them too hard, Raphael?” the Rabban asked quietly as he rose. He felt both contrite and worried, emotions he was unfamiliar with.
Mendoza could not conceal a look of surprise when he lifted his friend in his arms. The Rabban knew he’d lost a lot of weight. The two made their way slowly down the long, narrow hallway. “Will being anxious about it add even a single hour to your life?” The two men shared a grin at the reference. “Trust in God, compadre. He is in control.”
The Rabban waited anxiously for Dr. Larbonne to reconvene the meeting after the Council members had sufficient time alone to think and pray. Larbonne asked each of the members individually if they felt a sense of deep inner peace with the decision they were about to make, or if they still had reservations. Come on, come on, the Rabban gritted his teeth until they hurt, this is my last chance.
Monsignor Mendoza nodded his head slowly but decisively in affirmation; his heart was inclined to support the dreams of his dying friend, wherever they may lead.
Mitch Anderson said simply, “Yes.” He was already planning the mission. He couldn’t help it.
Professor Nyamwange explained that he was considering the enormous potential benefits for the people of the entire continent of Africa if new air cargo routes could be opened up into the heartland. The suffering of millions might be alleviated; he also said “Yes.”
Dr. Newsom, alone, still had reservations.
“Please honor us and share your concerns with the Council,” Larbonne intoned calmly. It seemed like he could continue this meeting forever. He’d been selected as the Council’s primary facilitator years ago and he seemed to have infinite patience for discussion. Newsom was safe to speak as long as she wished about any subject. Larbonne could show an individual the grace of time, and yet he always managed somehow to gather the group back together and lead them to a final decision.
Newsom directed her comments towards the Rabban. “You all know what my concerns are by now, but I am not at peace with my decision to vote no on this plan.”
All the Rabban heard was, “No.” Now I will die without realizing my dream. He sat in stunned silence. All the members of the Council knew that without a unanimous consensus no action would be taken. Any one of them could veto the entire plan. It was a testament to their skill in this process, and their trust in one another, to agree to decisions reached in this manner.
“What troubles you?” Larbonne encouraged Newsom to continue. There was more to her explanation.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said about lines of communication,” Newsom elaborated, “and how culture can be transmitted along them. I’ve never heard of that before, and I’ve been trying to digest it.”
The meeting room was quiet. Yet despite all the attention focused on her, she appeared to feel supported, like she was leading a team of willing explorers through some strange and uncharted terrain of the mind. Sensing that some shred of hope yet remained, the Rabban willed the outcome he wanted without giving voice to it. Please somebody; help her find her way to me.
“When I think of communication, I don’t think of equipment, and supplies, and cargo. I think of stories. And don’t lines extend infinitely in both directions?”
Some of the members picked up on the mathematical definition of a line. Others didn’t, but she was allowed to continue speaking with her stream of consciousness uninterrupted. “If we sent the St. Paul to Tanzania, or to anywhere for that matter, wouldn’t her crew and the response team encounter a world of unexpected experiences?”
“Yes,” the Rabban agreed softly, hopefully. He’d known Newsom for so long he had a sense of where she was heading with this.
“Couldn’t the stories of those experiences flow back to us along those lines of communication just as easily as we send equipment and supplies out to them?”
“More easily,” Mitch Anderson noted. “Logistics is hard, but information flow is instantaneous and nearly effortless.”
“Right.” Newsom looked his way and continued with enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t there be some value for us here at the Tyropoeon Valley in gathering and sharing stories from all over the world with the people we serve?”
“Would that be valuable enough for you to be at peace with this mission?” the Rabban asked, trying to keep the edge of excitement from his voice. I think I smell a deal cooking here!
“I think it would be, Rabban,” she said with a contented smile.
“Sounds like we need to find the St. Paul a field correspondent!” The Rabban rubbed his hands together with glee.
“And build the Tyropoeon Valley a new international library,” Newsom chimed in, a twinkle in her eye.