<p>I recently gave a business talk at a swanky New York City hotel and got robbed by one of the attendees. Maybe I shouldn´t have been surprised: it was a gathering of entrepreneurs.</p>
<p><b>There´s a price to be paid for going public</b></p>
<p>I was there to talk about a book that I recently co-authored: <i>The CEO and the Monk: One Company´s Journey to Profit and Purpose</i>. I´m the "monk" side of the story, having spent 15 years in a monastic community as a Catholic priest before venturing into the world of business. Actually, the work´s proven to be quite similar, except the pay´s now a lot better. </p>
<p>My presentation format is somewhat non-traditional. Unlike Jack Welch, I don´t purport to have clearly articulated solutions to solve today´s pressing business problems. I likewise eschew PowerPoint presentations, guided by the belief that folks are tired of them and prefer hearing a few good stories instead. I think Jesus followed a similar format in his short-lived business career. And even though it didn´t generate positive cash flow, his design was well received by the masses. </p>
<p>Perhaps what most distinguishes me from Mr. Welch is that he´s rich and I´m not. And as we all know from studying business best practices, if you´re rich - you must be right. Consequently, lacking copious cash and a neat package of simple handouts for business success, I use a presentation style that tends to skirt the mainstream, and wobbles along the margins of today´s cookie-cutter conference programs.</p>
<p>I´ve even given up deciding which business stories to tell, since it´s never really clear to me in advance what the attendees need to hear. I merely display several pictures on the stage and invite participants to choose one that captures their fancy - then I tell that particular story. This design is based on the business principle that people support what they help create. It also connects to my personal conviction that the group´s active contribution to the program generates buy-in and commitment. Besides, it safeguards my frail ego: if the presentation bombs, at least I have somebody else to blame. I´ve gleaned this final bit of wisdom by assiduously observing executive behavior both within and outside the monastery for well over 30 years.</p>
<p>During my talk, I also like to have the attendees take part in a group activity. Most of the time I´m able to resist the monastic temptation to have them join hands and sing "Kumbaya" and wind up engaging them in a business exercise pitched largely to their professional learning and personal enjoyment. When the activity´s over, I ask them to share their reflections with the full audience. I´ve found that if I can actually keep my mouth shut, most of the participants have pearls of wisdom to offer their peers. Anyone who´s brave enough to publicly speak his mind also gets a gift from the front table: a signed photo card from a well-known photographer - me. Like Ansel Adams, I counsel the recipients to hold onto it, for once I die it will only grow in value. This is, unfortunately, the downside of being an artist: you don´t get recognition until after you´re dead.</p>
<p><b>Miscreants in the marketplace</b></p>
<p>It was in just such a program that I got ripped off by a New York entrepreneur. After my talk, large numbers of the audience came up to shake my hand, offer congratulations and seek my professional counsel. This represented a total crowd of three. While I was momentarily distracted by the glow of world acclaim, someone snuck over to the front table where I had placed my photo cards and stole the display copy of my book. I didn´t notice the purloined item until the room emptied and I collected my personal belongings to journey home.</p>
<p> Drawing from my many years of monastic serenity, I remember softly muttering to no one in particular: "O my God! Some bastard stole my book."</p>
<p>Like Holden Caulfield, I too couldn´t quite stomach all New York had to offer and found myself expressing similar expletives of disbelief. My teen-age son often reminds me that not everyone views the world as I do. But what the heck´s going on here? Isn´t there anyone left who knows something about Divine Retribution? </p>
<p>From the way I looked at it, stealing from some ordinary guy on the street is one thing; but ripping off a former man of the cloth is quite another. You can´t steal from monks, even defrocked ones, without expecting some dire consequences to ensue. However, I took some consolation in recalling the opening act from the Broadway hit <i>Les Miserables</i>, where Jean Valjean is caught robbing from the church and is forgiven by the cleric - a compassionate deed that became a turning point in his life. I eventually offered absolution, in absentia, to the thief and likened my recent experience as similar. I headed home that evening humming the soundtrack from the musical.</p>
<p>But then a month later, it happened again. This time in New Jersey! And as we now can statistically substantiate, there ain´t no bad people living in any suburb of New Jersey. </p>
<p>Similar to the New York experience, at the end of my presentation I was surrounded by a screaming crowd of inspired business professionals. While I was momentarily distracted by the five people before me (actually, a few were there seeking directions to the Garden State Parkway) once again my book was mysteriously absconded away with.</p>
<p>The crowd eventually dwindled and a lone gentleman remained behind. "I loved your talk," he said, "and I wanted to have something to remember you by." With an air of nonchalance, he continued: "Since you didn´t have any more photo cards left, I decided to take the display copy of your book." </p>
<p>There, boldly visible in his attaché, was the evidence of his misdeed. Adding insult to injury, he took it out for me to autograph.</p>
<p>With the same moral indignation that Officer Javert held toward the thief Valjean, I chided him for his dastardly offense. But he was both unmoved and unrepentant. "I didn´t want to leave here tonight," he calmly continued, "without taking along a small reminder of the event." What did he think he was doing - harvesting relics for some future ecclesiastical yard sale? While folks may have stolen personal effects from Mother Teresa at the <i>end</i> of her career, she certainly didn´t get her start that way. And neither did Jack Welch.</p>
<p>I worried how this might all eventually play out: today they take my book; tomorrow, my femur. Was the New York entrepreneur a harbinger of something deeper?</p>
<p><b>I´m nobody. Who are you?</b></p>
<p>A final quality that differentiates me from Mr. Welch is that I´m not famous. This means that when I come into town to speak, most people don´t take notice. And when my presentation is over, I don´t have a frenetic speaking schedule that whisks me off to the next mega-conference in Vegas. I get to sit tight and hang around for a while. It´s not uncommon that my speaking schedule is so paltry that after shaking a few hands, I merely loiter in the lobby waiting for the cocktail hour to start. I regularly even have time to attend the conference dinner. But I´m not important enough to sit at the head table; I usually dine with the ordinary folks at the convention.</p>
<p>I kind of enjoy that, for I get to meet interesting and wholesome people in the process. Like the woman who shared with me her personal journey with breast cancer. Being a cancer survivor myself, I felt heartened listening to her story. Or another executive whose uncle was a Catholic priest. As a young girl, she grew up having a vast horde of them continually showing up for dinner, often unannounced. The woman also had some of the best clergy jokes I´ve ever heard: "Why do people sit in the back of the church? Because there are no chairs in the parking lot."</p>
<p>Oddly enough, there´s even a chance to perform some goodly deeds when you´re not that important. While I was wasting time before dinner, one young accountant in his twenties approached me with some small talk and then suddenly blurted out: "A friend of mine recently died and I haven´t been able to stop crying. My roommate feels there´s something wrong here. What do you think?"</p>
<p>We wound up talking for well over an hour.</p>
<p>It seems ministry is no longer relegated to the confines of a church. Most sacred moments happen in the marketplace, not the monastery. And occasionally even at a business conference. As we´ve known all along, the opportunities to offer support and provide friendly counsel continue to remain infinite and surprisingly varied.</p>
<p><b>Remembrance of things past</b></p>
<p>Upon reflection, I think the reason my book gets swiped at conferences is that people want a tangible reminder - a relic - of the experience. While difficult for my ego to accept, it´s not about me; it´s about the event. We come together at business gatherings seeking a sense of community. Our desire is not so much to hear from big-name speakers or to walk away with another set of handouts. We´re looking to connect with other kindred souls, ordinary folks struggling with the same issues we are. </p>
<p>Our unstated goal for attending these events is the overarching desire to feel that we´re not alone. That in living out our business vocation, we are making a difference. It´s the innate longing to believe that we´re using our God-given talents for something beyond financial remuneration. At some level, we understand that the author Neale Walsh was right: "When you lose sight of each other as sacred souls on a sacred journey, then you cannot see the purpose, the reason, behind all relationships."</p>
<p>In our thirst for learning, we want to be active participants and have a playful hand in creating our own business reality. What we´re seeking is an experience of being alive. And we come alive through stories and personal interaction. Something PowerPoint presentations just can´t accomplish.</p>
<p>We´re also reminded that the sacredness of life is often shrouded in the trappings of the ordinary. The Divine is manifest in the mundane, not the spectacular. </p>
<p>It seems that throughout history whenever sacred events happened, most of us missed the encounter. We were looking for something dynamic and more attractive. Possibly a charismatic leader cloaked in the trappings of a business superstar. But the prophets always reside in the audience and never on center stage. Alas, the Divine is deceptive.</p>
<p>It´s no surprise then, that when we attend workshops we want to retain something as a reminder. Rather than wanting to steal books, we really desire to recall that remembrances reside not in things but in us. Upon returning to work, we find that it´s who we are and not what we know that will ultimately transform our corporate homes.</p>
<p>Like Dorothy at the end of <i>The Wizard of Oz</i> this is something we´ve known all along, but somehow failed to remember. She had Glinda, the Good Witch, to remind her. But who will help us?</p>
<p>Perhaps that´s the responsibility we have to one another: to be heralds for this more sacred business reality. Conferences confer the invitation for us to be the living reminders of this deeper responsibility, this more compelling journey.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, if we fail to recall it on our own, we´re sure to be subjected to further PowerPoint presentations. </p>
<p>And I´m not sure I can handle yet another set of handouts.</p>
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<p><i>P.S. If you´re thinking about writing me, give in to the temptation. I love getting mail ... and being influenced by what you have to say. Please e-mail me at <a target="new" href="mailto:kennythemonk@yahoo.com">kennythemonk@yahoo.com</a>.</i></p>
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