Finding unity in a polarized church

The polarized church

After serving a pastorate in another denomination, I sought theological refuge in what was then the United Presbyterian Church in the United States of America. It was a time when presbyters were just beginning to adjust to the presence of two genders in presbytery meetings. When someone rose on the floor of presbytery to speak, he – and it was always a he – surprised this newcomer by addressing the presbytery beginning with a traditional formality: “Fathers and brethren … ” It was charming, in its way, but necessarily was on the cusp of obsolescence. Of course, once consciousness had been raised, some attempted to salvage something of the old courtesy by substituting “Fathers and brethren, mothers and sisters … ”

The intention was good, but that newly inclusive address never got off the ground. No one wants to go back to the insensitivity of the single-gender days. Nevertheless, one might regret the loss of an intimate form of address. As a new Presbyterian, I felt as though even when the arguments grew hot and heavy, the ancient courtesy signaled a certain respect and maybe even a measure of affection for one another. Years later, asked to preach at a meeting of my Presbytery of Detroit, I confessed that I had mixed feelings about presbytery meetings. After reminding the presbyters of the obsolete courtesy, I confessed:

Given the choice between going to a presbytery meeting or having a root canal, I might beg for time to think it over. One part of me loves the interaction with colleagues. One can see a lot of pleasure in the way presbyters greet one another in the hallways and at mealtimes. There are handshakes, there are hugs, there is laughter and there are quiet confidences shared. There is warmth there. But there is another part of me that I have held back at presbytery. Frankly, I’m reluctant to speak too openly about what I think, and equally reluctant to ask you your opinion. I’ve caught myself in this posture of withdrawal and asked myself why it kicks in automatically whenever I go to presbytery — and not to this presbytery only, but to others of which I have been a member. I think I’ve discovered why I’ve become so guarded. One reason is that I’m afraid that if my opinion is different from yours, you might despise me for it. And another reason is that I’m afraid that if I know what your opinion is, I might become disappointed and disheartened. And so, here in this assembly to which we’re drawn by our most precious commitments, I find myself afraid; and because of that fear, I am guarded. Our relationships here – among mothers and sisters, fathers and brethren – are curiously fragile. It almost seems as though we do best not to know each other too well.

I’m afraid that if my opinion is different from yours, you might despise me for it.

We live, of course, in a polarized and mean-spirited period in history. Maybe we shouldn’t be too surprised that the church should reflect that same brokenness, that same polarization, that same bitterness in which we’re immersed. Certainly, we live in a time when ministers and church officers are under stress. In times when numbers are diminishing, we are all afraid. We are afraid of the possibility of failure; we’re afraid that as the pie is cut into more and smaller pieces, there won’t be enough to go around. In a time when we feel less and less confident of anything, we become absolutists about those few things we think we do know: about gender issues, reproductive issues, language issues, sexuality issues, identity issues. Our presumed certainties have become so precious to us, so necessary for our sense of security, that we keep each other at a distance rather than put those certainties at risk. Here in the bosom of the church we all serve, it has become harder to see one another as fathers or brethren or mothers or sisters.

Our presumed certainties have become so precious to us, so necessary for our sense of security, that we keep each other at a distance rather than put those certainties at risk.

God’s project of redemption

In his last hours with his disciples, Jesus engaged in ardent prayer on their behalf. He begged the One who had sent him to preserve the unity of the faithful. Jesus prayed for the unity of the disciples — not just out of sentimental attachment to his friends, “but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their word” (John 17:20). The project God launched in Jesus Christ was a project for the redemption of the whole world. The end of this project is the unity of humankind. Jesus sees the unity of the church as necessary if the world is to take the Gospel seriously. He prays that the disciples “may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me” (17:23). Our Presbyterian Form of Government has picked up this theme in its listing of the Great Ends of the Church. One of those ends is “the exhibition of the Kingdom of Heaven to the world.” In other words, the church’s credibility depends on its ability to exhibit, to some degree at least, the power of love to overcome human divisions.

In a time when we feel less and less confident of anything, we become absolutists about those few things we think we do know…

At one time, we read Jesus’ prayer acutely conscious of ecclesiastical divisions. The ecumenical movement, in fact, is one attempt to respond to Jesus’ passionate prayer. But these days, it’s easier for the various confessions to show respect for one another than to get people within our communions to stop their mutual excommunications. When you and I withdraw from one another, when we lose the capacity to trust one another, we contribute to the subversion of the church’s vocation: “so that they may be one, as we are one … so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me” (John 17:22-23).

“Love the Lord Jesus”

A few years ago, I had lunch with a minister whose gifts I had long admired. We were talking about the church and about the distress and confusion it was experiencing. He said something that surprised me, because he chose words that Presbyterians don’t often use. He said that the key thing, the one crucial thing, was to “love the Lord Jesus.” This colleague was not among those colleagues one expects to use those words. He was one of us ordinary Presbyterians who may feel love for the Lord Jesus but who prefer to speak of it indirectly. You know how it is with most of us: we’re fearful of wearing our piety on our sleeve. We use theological language more comfortably than we use language of the heart. My friend was no different from the rest of us in these matters. That’s why it startled me when he spoke of how imperative it is to “love the Lord Jesus.”

Certainly, theology matters. And probably also sociology matters … But no remedy will really cure us unless it takes us by the hand and leads us directly to the Lord Jesus.

It took me by surprise, but nothing else has spoken to me as deeply. Many have offered any number of analyses of our situation and prescribed remedies. Certainly, theology matters. And probably also sociology matters, demographics matter, cultures matter and psychology matters. Each discipline may contribute something to resolving our dilemmas. But no remedy will really cure us unless it takes us by the hand and leads us directly to the Lord Jesus (and yes, I recognize that even the word “Lord” may be controversial). When we turn our faces toward him, we meet one another.

Do we wish to go away?

At a moment when a good number of Jesus’ circle were deserting him, Jesus asked the Twelve whether they wanted to leave him too. It was a time of diminishment, a time of anxiety, a time when failure loomed large. Peter answered for them all: “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:68). The question is well put to each of us also: “Do you also wish to go away?” I can’t imagine that any of us would reply any differently than Simon Peter did. Those who turn to the Lord Jesus for refuge are mysteriously joined to the Holy God and to one another: “I in them and you in me” (John 17:23), as Jesus prayed.

The Lord Jesus who joins us to the Holy Trinity and to one another is precisely that One who comes to meet us in sermon and sacrament. By the power of the Holy Spirit, our hearts are joined in one holy unity: fathers and sisters, mothers and brethren. In such a meeting, God sets our feet to dancing, and even when we are too uptight just to go with the beat, somehow we get the steps right. “Dance, then, wherever you may be; I am the Lord of the Dance, said he. And I’ll lead you all wherever you may be, and I’ll lead you all in the dance, said he.”