Many of us have grown accustomed to having things exactly our way — ordering coffee drinks with six descriptive modifiers, instant communication whenever the inclination strikes, families eating out more often so parents can avoid preparing separate meals for each child. Having things exactly our way only works for a privileged few. It is nearly impossible to live in true Christian community and have things exactly the way we like them.
But according to reporter Bill Bishop and sociologist Robert G. Cushing, many of us are arranging all aspects of our lives, beginning with the neighborhoods we choose to live in, so that we are constantly surrounded by people who agree with us. These divisions go beyond our neighborhoods. “American churches today are more culturally and politically segregated than our neighborhoods,” write Bishop and Cushing in their book, The Big Sort. The insights of these authors confirm what Presbyterians have experienced for some time on a denominational level.
As a youth advisory delegate to the 208th General Assembly, I overheard an older man on the hotel shuttle bus wisely tell another commissioner, “You just have to listen for the leading of the Holy Spirit. That’s how it works.”
I fell in love with the Presbyterian Church at that assembly, though it was considered by many to be a particularly divisive one. There I received a real sense of the connectional church beyond the congregation where my brother and I were baptized as infants. I came into a new understanding of our belief that God is Lord of conscience. I didn’t agree with all of the decisions made at that assembly, but I talked with enough commissioners and delegates to trust that we were each doing our best to discern God’s will together. There the Presbyterian Church became something more to me than just a family tradition. Although I had already been accepted to seminary at the time — and had deferred my admission for a variety of reasons — my experiences at that assembly solidified my desire to serve in the church, in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).
Seven years after my ordination as a Minister of Word and Sacrament, I was reminded of that commissioner’s faithful words on the bus by the opening devotional of a committee session at the 218th General Assembly. A time of group deliberation began with this question for silent meditation: “Dear Lord, How do I remember to listen to others and not only wait for my turn to speak?” This question is an essential one for those who pray for Christ to heal our divisions, to bring wholeness to our brokenness.
Listening instead of waiting for a turn to speak is a risky thing to do. It might allow the Holy Spirit to sneak in and change our hearts. Listening intently to the ideas of another might leave us unprepared with a swift, snappy rebuttal. It might even make room for others to enter the conversation.
The divisions among us are just another symptom of the brokenness that all God’s children experience. It is painful to face the differences that separate us from our brothers and sisters in Christ. But in acknowledging our brokenness, we make room for Christ the Healer to enter in, to make us whole again. Christ calls us away from “the Big Sort” to the wholeness that is ours in him.
We are destined to be polarized further if we continue to focus on what divides us. At its best, the church is a place of diversity where many different ages, heritages, and socio-economic groups come together to worship and serve the triune God. So much connects us. We all want our children to be cared for. We all care for our families. We all pray to bring about the Kingdom. Together we are the family of God, and our life together must be grounded in this connection.
We tend to focus on our disagreements over hot-button issues, but these issues work against our common calling. The more we get to know each other, the more we realize that the things we thought separated us don’t have to come between us. We can learn from each other, but only by being together.
On a youth group mission trip this summer, I rode another bus with an eight-year-old named Angelica. She asked me if I knew that God is our father and our mother. “That means we are all brothers and sisters,” she said, smiling. Then she gave me a long, serious look and said, “That’s hard.” We sat in silence for a moment, and I relished this profound moment of understanding with a little child. But then, Angelica shook her head and said: “Taking care of all those kids.” Although she had expressed a profound truth, I realized she had not meant precisely what I thought she meant.
It is nonetheless true that being brothers and sisters in Christ is one of the hardest things we can do. But no matter what our siblings discern at any General Assembly, our relationships with one another are essential to our calling. In our brokenness, we admit we do not have all the answers. The divisions among us often highlight our brokenness, both as Christ’s disciples and as his body. And yet, it is through our wounds that Christ can make us whole.
Katie Pate is associate pastor of Rose City Park Church, Portland, Ore.
