It started over a cup of coffee.
In the summer of 2004 two friends from seminary, both serving at the time as associate pastors in prominent downtown congregations, met for coffee in Richmond during General Assembly. (See these friends’ thoughts in “Montreat meeting focuses Columbia grads on future” in the May 30, 2005, Outlook). After catching up, the conversation turned to the events of the Assembly. Both were incredibly frustrated with the politically-charged atmosphere, as well as the enormous amounts of time spent huddling and strategizing instead of praying and working together to make our church a healthier, more faithful place.
A question was asked: “Do the people we see doing battle through interest groups and on the floor of GA really know each other at all?” Others followed. “What would things be like if the people (on the left and the right) who are so frustrated with each other now had been in relationship with each other the whole time? Would the conversation sound any different?”
Through their meeting came a vision of something that, modeled on the church’s own Task Force for Peace, Unity, and Purity, could start a different kind of conversation. A small group of younger pastors — all recent Columbia graduates — sat together in Montreat in February 2005 for a couple of powerful days. And we learned.
The conservatives learned that the liberals took the Bible more seriously than they thought. The liberals learned the conservatives aren’t as hard-hearted as they thought. We learned some of what we already knew — that there are no easy answers, and that we all have a long road ahead of us. We tossed some bombs onto the battlefield over these critical issues, speaking passionately and powerfully. We also realized how troublesome our language could be. Perhaps our greatest lesson was about the limitation of the labels “liberal” and “conservative.” One might be quite “liberal” on issues of ordination, but be quite “conservative” on issues of worship. We tried to take great care not to let inadequate language shape our rich and multifaceted conversations.
After these hard discussions we worshipped, sang, and prayed together. Often, then, the tone of the conversation changed. We turned on some music and spent hours into the night telling stories about our families (and maybe a few about our congregations), laughing, catching up, and enjoying each other as friends, as peers, as brothers and sisters in Christ. And though in one sense we didn’t resolve anything, and no conservative declared himself liberal after the meeting (or vice versa), the ideas the Holy Spirit put to work in us have greatly affected our common ministries.
It has been a challenge to keep up the momentum from our first meeting.
We returned to our congregations hopeful, and received support from many quarters — more than we expected, to be honest. We received an S-3 (study, Sabbath, service) Grant from Columbia that has helped facilitate continued conversation over e-mail and another meeting in May 2006, in north Georgia.
At this gathering we chose to omit formal times to engage controversial issues, knowing they would surely happen informally. We tried to envision a future for the church we all were just beginning to serve. We spent time around leadership styles, church governance issues, worship forms, and our call to evangelism in a pluralistic context. Into the evenings, we talked about our churches, passed baby pictures around, prepared meals, sang, and prayed. We still argued about the PUP Report — and many other things. But the slow, relentless movement of the Spirit continued to wear down our anger, resentment, and rough edges. Some good food didn’t hurt.
That is not to say it has been easy.
Our difficulties have been both internal and external in nature. The internal ones are the most predictable. How do you step back from an argument, especially when it gets heated? What do deep, committed friendships look like among people who disagree on fundamental issues of faith? Acknowledging that in many congregations the news they get on denominational issues gets filtered through the pastor, we have challenged each other to be even-handed. We have asked each other, “Would you knowingly disobey the constitution?” or “Would you ever try and lead a church out of the PC(USA)?” Few of us have ever been directly confronted with these questions. As unpleasant as these conversations may be, we needed each other to keep us accountable.
The external component has been more complicated.
Many of us entertained invitations to speak at presbytery or interest group gatherings about what we have been doing. Being warmly greeted at such events has been encouraging, but also confusing. “Why is it,” we continue to ask each other, “that what we are doing is perceived as so radical?” We have felt great affirmation and support, with many kinds people saying they find in us a source of hope.
We have also, at other times, felt “patted on the head.”
Many clergy (and laypeople) have spoken to us as naïve youngsters who will “get it” one day, when we have seen what they have seen, when we have fought the battles they have fought. These people find us pleasant, but our task ultimately untenable. The world, they say, just doesn’t work this way. This has been the most difficult part for me, personally, as I struggle with people with whom I tend to agree on most issues of faith, but who seem jaded from years of arguing. Being a part of this group has caused more tension with people on my “side” than people on the other. My friends on the other side of the aisle have challenged me to see a broader vision of church, and this vision often conflicts with the myopic worldviews that pervade our personal affinities. How do you tell your friends you think they are pursuing a faithful cause in the wrong way? How do we deal with being called a sellout for even being willing to talk?
One story continues to haunt me.
A few of us participated in a panel discussion at an interest group gathering last year. We told our stories, and fielded a couple of questions. The conversation with the audience was awkward and I, for one, felt a bit dismissed. Afterward, as we were transitioning to dinner, a man came up to me, thanking us for what we were doing. He told me about his own efforts in forming relationships across theological differences, and the deep betrayal he felt when one of these friends “spied” on one of his worship services for a special interest group. The relationship was shattered, and they didn’t speak for a period of years. But now, recently, they were trying things again. It was slow, but they were working hard to resume the conversation, both in some sense knowing it was important. And this man, with tears in his eyes, told me how lonely that felt, and how he had no one to support him as that relationship fell apart, but also no one to remind him how important reconciliation was. Eyes glistening, he told me that the support we were providing each other gave him great hope, for he thought his ministry might have been different if he had had it.
And that, when it gets down to it, is what we are seeking to do.
We talk over e-mail or on the phone, we try and gather once a year, we struggle with Scripture, and we pray. We ask each other tough questions. We seek to support each other in ministry – through the times when we are troubled and angry, and the times we are most confident that God will do something miraculous and new. At the end of the day, our differences are no less real. Yet, we are reminded of the One who continues to bind us together. And it happens through simple questions, through listening, through prayer, and by gathering around a table with food and something to drink.
I seem to remember that working well in other settings, too.
Chris Tuttle is pastor of Faith Church in Greensboro, N.C.
