A World of Anxious Leaders
You want the soldiers who are dressed in Nazi uniforms to capture the American. That’s when the genius of The Third Man hits you. In the 1949 film’s climax, the Austrian army pursues the corrupted American businessman Harry Lime (played by Orson Welles) through the sewers of Vienna. The scene subverts every World War II movie trope, in which you are hoping that the American will get away from the guys in the German uniforms. It turns the standard moral categories on their head.
The Third Man features the acting prowess of Orson Welles. However, its real star is its location: Vienna in the anxious days following the end of World War II.
The once great capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire lies in partial ruins—a shadow of the city that only a few decades before had been a magnetic hub of creativity and culture. The city shaped global thought in fields ranging from psychology, economics, philosophy, and the arts. Now Vienna is defeated and humiliated. The empire is not coming back. The global balance of power has shifted. Authority has passed from the Nazis to the Allied occupying forces, who divided the city into different control zones. It was not clear who was in charge. Authority has a habit of shifting around in such places.
The Vienna of The Third Man is a gray zone—a transitional space where nothing is black and white. Gray zones are disorientating in-between places, where little seems to make sense. The war has ended, but peace hasn’t arrived yet. Elements of its architectural glory exist alongside rubble. Wealth alongside poverty. The dignity of its historic cafe culture continues, alongside the desperation of a growing black-market economy. Morality is malleable. Trust has vanished, replaced by an atmosphere of suspicion. The city is haunted by the past and unable to move into the future. This sense of anxiety is captured in the angular shots and use of shadows, employed by the Australian cinematographer Robert Krasker.
I thought a lot about The Third Man during the pandemic. Unable to travel, I spent a lot of time in Zoom meetings with leaders from across the world. I noticed that despite the different cities, countries, continents, and contexts, a common thread seemed to run through the conversations. As I listened to leaders and pastors, I noticed a particular mood had fallen upon many, a sense that the carpet had been pulled out from under their feet. Despite countless books, articles, documentaries, and TED Talks predicting the impending possibility of a global pandemic, no church leader I spoke to had planned for nor had been prepared by their training for such a possibility. Many wondered what their churches would look like when they regathered. The future no longer looked predictable. Planning became more difficult, pointing toward the possibility of a different future than had been imagined. Some even wondered if their churches would be there when they returned.
Many predicted that the brewing culture wars would subside as the pandemic took hold. Some speculated that a spirit of cooperation would bring nations together, driving a unifying wartime effort to beat back the virus. The opposite happened. Sure, it looked different in different contexts. Yet the effect was the same. The culture wars and social tensions became even rawer, trickling down into congregations, creating new challenges for leaders to navigate.
For several years, I had been helping leaders and pastors understand and lead in the emerging post Christian society of the West. I wrote, spoke, and podcasted on how we can grow churches of resilience, biblical faithfulness, and discipleship within secular cities. I soon learned that the trends I had outlined were not confined to the West but were reshaping the global church’s challenges. Not just in Melbourne, London, or Portland, but also in Lagos, Taipei, and Montevideo. I no longer had to make the argument that a post-Christian moment was coming. Instead, its arrival was making the already difficult task of leadership even more daunting.
A growing sense of anxiety accompanied the rising challenge felt by leaders. The emotional landscape of congregations and Christian organizations was growing more chaotic and unhealthier. Leaders found themselves stuck in the no-man’s-land of relational and cultural conflict. Many looked for support but instead found themselves surrounded by anxious friends, spouses, staff, and the marvelous mirages of successful ministry found on social media. Anxiety naturally crept in.
Things got worse as heroes of the faith fell. Well-known churches, previously viewed as gold-standard models of ministry, became messes. Great Christian institutions bled legitimacy. Understandably, many Christian leaders began eyeing the exit.
Like Holly Martins in The Third Man, we had entered a gray zone. It is a chaotic, confusing, anxious, and complex place filled with change. It is the space between a passing era ending and a new era forming.
How do you lead in a moment like this?
Gray zones are seeded with the potential for renewal. Unformed moments and chaotic spaces force us to leave behind the ideas and idols of the passing era. With God, every moment is seeded with the possibility of rebirth. Gray zones offer a blank canvas for God to paint a new story.
It is therefore vital that leaders—not just pastors or leaders of large ministries, but anyone who has a sphere of influence, no matter how large or small—reframe our gray zone moment. We must see it not as a disaster but as an opportunity for rebirth, renewal, and revival. In the Scriptures, the wilderness that challenging and chaotic place—is transformed into an arena of spiritual growth where leaders encounter the presence of God and become non-anxious presences in an anxious world.
Adapted from A Non-Anxious Presence: How a Changing and Complex World Will Create a Remnant of Renewed Christian Leaders by Mark Sayers (© 2022). Published by Moody Publishers. Used by permission.
Mark Sayers is the senior leader of Red Church and the cofounder of Über Ministries. He is particularly interested in the intersection between Christianity and the culture of the West. Mark lives in Melbourne, Australia, with his wife, Trudi, and their daughter (Grace) and twin boys (Hudson and Billy).