As a teenager in the 1970s, I was committed to following Jesus wherever he would lead. My spiritual mentors — Christian businessmen — directed me to follow the narrow way. They organized Bible study groups, taught spiritual disciplines, promoted moral purity, and championed absolutes. I followed their lead.
But, I also found their promotion of absolutes somewhat confusing. For example, as my parents’ marriage unraveled, the mentors equated divorce with the unforgivable sin. Then our pastor separated from his wife. They not only fired him, they excommunicated him — condemning him to eternal torment. The absolutes had to be maintained.
I read my Bible as they urged, and I kept running into biblical heroes who didn’t follow those absolutes — like Abraham the doubter, Jacob the trickster, Moses the murderer, Solomon the polygamist, Hosea the immorality enabler, Peter the denier, John and James the self-promoters — not to mention those infamous women heroes — and yet, so many of them appear to have been blessed by God.
Over decades of theological studies, I surmised that one absolute does stand: the existence, personhood, character, and mission of the triune God. I also recognized many biblical teachings to be core convictions outlining our faith. But, I also found that many particular propositions and principles taught in Scripture are maintained somewhat inconsistently. Some convictions promoted with passion on one page find exceptions or, at least, approximations on another.
Could it be that the very term “absolute” should be used only when speaking of God? And might it be more appropriate to categorize convictions about our human response to God as “standards,” keeping in mind that standards can abide exceptions and approximations in a way that absolutes cannot?
I wrestled with these issues as one of 20 members on the Theological Task Force on Peace, Unity, and Purity of the Church (TTF). The whole denomination, indeed, the whole western church had been wrestling with the matter of absolutes, standards, and exceptions for years, particularly with regard to the status of believers who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgendered in orientation (GLBT).
While the TTF was not assigned the task of rewriting the policy, many observers hoped that the policy would get either strengthened or softened. Some TTF members aimed to keep the traditional standards in place without compromise. Some wanted to broaden the standards, granting covenanted, monogamous, same-sex couples equal status to covenanted, monogamous, opposite-sex couples. As it had been debated for 25 years, the big question was, “Must all GLBT persons be excluded from serving in ordained office?”
The TTF did neither. What it did do was to learn how to fight, or more accurately, how to live together in times of disagreement. Since our earliest days, we Presbyterians have wrestled with a relentless barrage of controversies over how the Bible should be faithfully interpreted and applied. The historians in the TTF explained how, in our best moments, our predecessors forged a way through such disagreements by reconsidering our standards, reaffirming or amending them, and by considering possible exceptions on a case-by-case basis. They also helped us see that, far from reflecting a softened commitment to scriptural teaching, this traditional Presbyterian practice of considering case-by-case exceptions embodied our seriousness about the biblical command to show forbearance toward fellow Christians with whom we disagree.
Some of those exceptions (the old term is “scruples”) arose over fairly theoretical matters, like the doctrine of double predestination taught in the Westminster Confession. Some exceptions were more contextual and behavioral, like Westminster’s high view of the divine appointment of civil magistrates. Since theology drives living, all such exceptions carried over into the way Christians live, the way pastors preach, the way churches do mission, and the way the denomination is governed.
The TTF recommended that the church dust off that old practice by reaffirming its core theological
convictions, retaining the existing constitutional standards, urging more rigor in examining ordination candidates, and being open to the exercise of Christian forbearance toward persons expressing biblically-informed, conscientious dissent from official church teaching. The General Assembly approved it in 2006 — amending it to assure that both the process and the substance of any exceptions allowed can be reviewed by the church’s courts.
Many applauded the plan. Many cried foul.
Some were angry that the standard did not change. For GLBTs to get ordained as “an exception to the rule” felt insulting — a far cry from gaining equal status. Anger flared over the likelihood that any approval of ordination would be followed by a series of legal appeals ending up in the General Assembly’s Permanent Judicial Commission (GA-PJC).
For others, the possibility of allowing even one exception to the rule implied that there is no rule. Those who had worked to support the fidelity-chastity policy felt betrayed.
Now, 18 months later, two individuals, openly lesbian Lisa Larges and openly gay Paul Capetz, have tested the policy. They declared scruples. Their presbyteries voted to extend forbearance. In Lisa’s case, she can proceed toward possible ordination, and in Paul’s case, his once-demitted ordination was reinstated.
They and their supporters are rejoicing, but their journey is not over. Their presbyteries’ approvals will be challenged, and it will take months for the courts to sort out whether or not their scruples will ultimately be allowed.
In the meantime and in the aftermath, we find ourselves living in a land of ambiguities. On the one hand, the “absolute” prohibition of GLBT persons from the church disappeared in 1978, when the church determined that same-sex orientation is not a bar to membership. On the other hand, the ordination standards regarding sexual behavior remain in place, even if a few exceptions for conscientious dissent can be considered. And all ordaining bodies are duty-bound to carefully and prayerfully examine the spiritual, theological, and moral fitness of all candidates for ordained ministry in their midst.
My primary spiritual mentor, the chief advocate for absolutes in my teenage years, ran into some of life’s ambiguities in the 1990s. His marriage unraveled; he divorced his wife, and years later, married another woman. A humbler, less dogmatic man has emerged. He still loves the Lord, and he still advocates a faith that is clear about whom we worship and about whose grace saves. But he allows more nuance in applying the standards to our daily living.
Would to God that we could all humbly do so.
JHH
