Congregational update

I’ve been meaning to give an update on the state of things in my congregation for a while now.  I know that some of my earlier posts may have been confusing to those looking in from the outside, so I’ll try start with a very brief summary of things.

Those who have read my blog before know that the congregation was going through a process to discern whether to extend membership to same-gender couples in committed relationships.  We had a very painful meeting on Pentecost Sunday of this year (May 31st) that ended badly.  However, despite what might have been assumed from reading my reactions to that meeting, our process did not conclude with that meeting.  Rather, the process continues, although it has been put on hold for a time.

(On the other hand, some people have left our congregation.  My friends, who were most directly impacted by our congregational process, needed to leave for their own health.  Others left based on conviction one way or another.  Some people decided to take a vacation from the congregation, but returned later.  And so on.)

Since our congregation is pretty mobile, especially in the summer, we put off further action until the fall.  In the interim, we decided that in order to move forward we needed some new tools – new ways of communicating, of telling our stories and listening to others tell theirs.  We have brought in two mediators from KIPCOR to work with us. 

Their first visit was earlier this month on Sunday, October 4th.  I had a somewhat unsettling experience that day.  Our meetings were during the Sunday school hour and then again after potluck.  As I came to our meeting space, I struggled to join the group that had already started meeting.   Mentally, I just had a very hard time.  Finally, I found a chair in the corner and listened from there.  The meeting after the potluck was even harder – I never did join that one, although I was able to listen because the sound system was on.

I’m not exactly sure why I reacted the way I did, and I wasn’t pleased with myself.  In theory, I was glad that the mediators were there, but I felt tired – like I had dealt with things all summer, even though the congregation as a whole was waiting for fall – and didn’t want to go through things again.  It is also possible (though I discounted it then) that returning from Australia only twelve hours earlier had something to do with my emotional state.

The folks from KIPCOR will be back in the middle of November, and they’ve asked us to consider this question:

What is the one story you would like to share with others that will help them be able to understand your experience related to the events of the past 12 months?

Again, I don’t particularly look forward to this time, and I’m not at all happy with that feeling.  Partly, I don’t know where to begin with my story.  Partly, I don’t want to tell it again.  And I’m still tired.  So I’ve got some preparation to do.  Here are the other questions that I (we) have been asked to consider between now and then:

What is God saying to me in the midst of struggle?

What is the one thing I am doing to help the congregation resilient?

Am I cultivating a sense of respect and humility?

Can I maintain a sense of wonder?

Where am I seeing God at work?

Am I taking care of myself?

Did I laugh with others today?

Am I spending time in prayer with the freedom to be honest with God?

Humility

A few days ago, I read a blog post by Donald Miller, reflecting on self-promotion.  I read Don’s autobiographical book, Blue Like Jazz, a few years ago and really enjoyed it.  Or rather, I think I enjoyed it.  I actually can’t remember many specifics any more, but I still have this sense that I really respected his story and life, and that he lived out an authentic faith.

Don has written a new book and is currently out on a book tour, and his blog post had some really insightful things to say about the motivations of those of us who like to think of ourselves as bloggers…

Half the time, if not more than half, I am full of bullshit. I share what will make me look good. If I am vulnerable, I share just enough vulnerability to be perceived as vulnerable, rather than to actually humiliate myself so that others can talk more openly about their own insecurities. I also leak in my accomplishments, and I’ve become a master at it. I don’t even know I am doing it half the time, and the other half I strategically list my accomplishments so that they come off as dismissive or “in passing.”

Not all of Don’s post is this negative (negative, but insightful!), and he says some other interesting things about blogging, so you might want to check it out.  Anyway, it got me thinking about pride and humility and motivation, and I had to think some more when the topic of humility came up again at Bible study last night.  (Usually, two occurrences of the same topic constitutes a blog entry waiting to be written.)  Our study was on this week’s lectionary reading from the Psalms, which includes this verse:

My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
   let the humble hear and be glad.

Psalm 34.2, NRSV

And I got to thinking – I’m not very good at humility.  I like my ideas.  I like my beliefs.  I tend to think that I have things right, and I tend to get defensive when I’m questioned.  I like the sound of my own words, and I’m probably pretty good at self-promotion.  But the psalmist instructs us to boast in the Lord…

My congregation is going through some hard times – the fallout from this episode.  So we’ve asked some skilled mediators to help us find the tools for moving forward.  One image that they’ve used to describe a story (or truth, if you will) is that of a lake.  If you’re standing on the lakeshore looking out, you will have a particular view.  But if another person stands on the far shore of the same lake, that person’s view will be completely different.  And so to gain the whole view, we must take the time to walk around the lake.

So I suppose that the message to myself this week is that I need to learn to hold my “truth” lightly and not defensively, being well aware that if I’m good at anything, it’s at being wrong.

Humility.

Peace to you

My favorite song is “Peace” by Rich Mullins:

Though we’re strangers, still I love you
I love you more than your mask
And you know you have to trust this to be true
And I know that’s much to ask
But lay down your fears, come and join this feast
He has called us here, you and me

Refrain:

And may peace rain down from Heaven
Like little pieces of the sky
Little keepers of the promise
Falling on these souls
This drought has dried
In His Blood and in His Body
In the Bread and in this Wine
Peace to you
Peace of Christ to you

And though I love you, still we’re strangers
Prisoners in these lonely hearts
And though our blindness separates us
Still His light shines in the dark
And His outstretched arms
Are still strong enough to reach
Behind these prison bars to set us free

(Refrain)

Today, I came across the blog of another member of my congregation.  One of the posts was about our recent congregational struggles, and it turns out that we hold differing beliefs.  But I found, as I read that particular blog entry, that I could have written it myself.  It contained the same fears, pain, anxiousness, doubt, and hurt that I’ve felt.  As I read it, I could feel some of the walls around my heart falling.  And so I left a comment, with some of my thoughts.

Later on, I received a response from this blogger, including thoughts on what happens if/when we get to a decision making time.  Specifically, what happens when you find yourself in the minority?  Do you leave the congregation?

I take my membership seriously.  In fact I see many similarities between a commitment to membership in a church, and a commitment to marriage.  I think there can be a very few legitimate, spiritual reasons to leave a church, but I haven’t experienced any yet.

When I read that, I found that even more walls were falling, because it so closely resembles some of my own thoughts from a previous blog, even though neither of us had read the other’s writings before.  I told Ordinary Spouse, “This is someone that I’d be pleased to worship with, despite our differences.”

This Sunday, we celebrate communion at our congregation.  It turns out that the subtitle of the song above is “A Communion Blessing from St. Joseph’s Square”.  So to my friends…

Peace to you.  Peace of Christ to you.

Time to change priorities?

I’ve been thinking a lot about community recently.  Much of my thinking originates with the challenges facing my congregation, as many who read this blog will be aware.  (Those of you aren’t acquainted with our struggles will be able to learn more in the archives.)  Mennonites tend to talk a lot about community – for good reason, I think.  When we do community well, we do it really well.  We emphasize communal discernment in matters of scriptural interpretation and hearing God’s call.  We practice mutual aid in times of trouble.  Our potlucks are awesome.

But we also have a knack for doing community pretty poorly at times, too.  Think about this – the existence of both Amish and Mennonites is just one example of community gone wrong.  And one can find other examples of church, conference, and denominational splits – the rending of community.  I suppose that these splits stem from a need to define community.  If you value it, you want to protect it.  You want to guard it.  You want to keep it pure.

When it comes to scriptural discernment, I wonder if what we really do is to find a like-minded group of believers who will remind us (at the appropriate time) of applicable scripture; or rather, will remind us of the scriptures that the community has already regarded as applicable.  In this sense, the community becomes an accountability group (put nicely) or a law enforcement body (not so nice).  This isn’t necessarily bad, but it avoids the actual process of scriptural discernment.  And this raises the question of what to do when a disagreement develops within the community.  Do we have room for someone who, in good faith, believes differently than the community; or is such a person regarded as rebellious?  Have we left room within our boundaries for the movement of the Holy Spirit?  Is there space for the prophetic?

You can guess which way I’m leaning, just because I’m bothering to ask the questions in the first place.  I think that in some ways, Mennonites have made community a priority – that is, as long as boundaries aren’t stretched, we’ll be a very good community.  We rejoice when we should rejoice, mourn when we should mourn, provide support when needed.  But when you reach the boundaries, then orthodoxy becomes the priority so that the purity of the community is maintained.  However, I wonder if this ought to be the case.

What was Jesus’ priority – community or orthodoxy?  Let me give you one possible answer that I’m exploring – my hypothesis, if you will.  Maybe Jesus’ orthodoxy was community.  Is it possible that the whole of Jesus’ teaching comes down to this: an ethic of love for your community.  Love the Lord your God with all your heart and your neighbor as yourself. 

Now – perhaps that “ethic of love” sounds a little too open ended.  If that’s the case, run everything through the “Fruits of the Spirit” filter.  Does this action bear the fruits of the Spirit?  Then it’s permissible.  There are a few times in the New Testament where we hear the puzzling admonition to “judge for yourselves…”  Do we dare take that literally?

And think about this – are there examples where Jesus actually broke fellowship with someone?  There are many examples where people broke fellowship with Jesus: when the radical nature of his message became just too much and the Good News just didn’t seem too good anymore.  But I can’t remember any times when Jesus was the one walking away.  We are quick to remember how Jesus told us to treat those who have sinned against us – as tax collectors and gentiles.  But we fail to remember that Jesus spent all of his time with tax collectors, and that we ourselves are gentiles.

I’m aware that I’m leaving tons of questions unanswered, but I’m going to proceed anyway and pose even more questions.  In the end, this blog will be all questions.  No answers.

So, let’s suppose that we truly make community our priority.  Under what circumstances would it be acceptable to break community?  I think that an abusive community is no community at all.  If someone leaves for their own health – spiritual, emotional, or physical – they are justified in doing so.  This is clear.

Also, I think that some marriage imagery is useful: Jesus talked about permitting divorce when someone has been unfaithful.  But this is where I start to struggle.  What would that mean in a community setting?  For example, I recently spoke with someone about welcoming LGBT brothers and sisters into our congregation.  “I see it as a social justice issue,” he said.  “I couldn’t be a part of a congregation that wasn’t welcoming.”  To illustrate his concern, he asked, “Could you be a part of congregation that condoned slavery?”  Exactly.  Precisely.  I agree fully.  But what if I had been an abolitionist 150 years ago in a congregation struggling on this question?  How long do you live in disagreement?  How do you respect the noble intent of your brother or sister in their interpretation of scripture on one hand, when on the other hand you think that their understanding is unfaithful to Jesus’ ethic of love?

Let’s move on from the current challenge in my congregation, because I’m also curious about the bigger question:  If you prioritize community, are there certain issues or beliefs that are non-negotiable?  Are there times when we say, “you have to believe in a certain way, or you can’t be part of our community”?  Abortion?  Military involvement?  The role of Mary?  The Eucharist?  Even the deity of Christ?  Would Jesus turn away anyone who sincerely wanted to follow him?

All of this has a profound effect on how we think about church membership.  I’m starting to think that Jesus would frown on the whole idea.  But you might say, “Wait – if we don’t have membership, how do we define who can be a teacher or a preacher?  I don’t want someone teaching my children things that I don’t support.”  Of course, you’re right.  But maybe, when we try to make these decisions ahead of time, then we’ve created an institution (or a principality or power, to use biblical language).  At that point, we are no longer working from community.  Maybe the better way is to deal with these questions as they arise, living with grace, maintaining the unity of the Spirit, and bearing with one another in love.  And if we really need a way to define ourselves and are concerned that our community not become an “anything-goes, free-for-all”, we can say (as the Church of the Brethren does) that our creed is the New Testament.

As for myself, all of this leaves unanswered the question of what to do when you find yourself in conflict within a congregation that prioritizes orthodoxy above community.  Or worse yet, when you find yourself between opposing sides.  The only thing that I seem to know in all of this is that Jesus, on the night before his death, prayed for the unity of his followers.  If he felt strongly enough about the matter to put it into his final prayer, then we as his followers should probably do our best to figure out how to make that happen.  So far, we’re struggling.

I’m not the only one asking the “Why are you (still) Mennonite?” question

Three weeks ago during the Mennonite convention at Columbus, I reflected a bit (here and here) on why I’m a Mennonite and what keeps me in the denomination.  It turns out that I’m not the only one doing some reflecting…

My dear friend, who is anything but a “cradle Menno”, also had some thoughts on this right after she returned from Columbus.

And Urban Mennonite, whose is much more culturally Menno, has observations that pretty well reflect how I feel.  And while you’re there, take a look at that first comment.  I’ve asked the same question already, and I have no idea if I’ll ever make it to seminary or not.

(Slightly related note: Mennonites talk a whole bunch about the importance of community.  I’m not sure we know what we mean by that.  I’m going to have to reflect on that one…)

Healing, part two

Well, now… this is interesting.  I didn’t mention it in my previous blog, but Megan Ramer’s meditation on healing was strongly influenced by writings by Jan Richardson.  And so it is instructive that my Ordinary Spouse shared this insightful quote with me today, which comes from Jan’s blog:

Our healing must be linked to the healing of others. Healing is not solely a personal endeavor, this passage tells us; it occurs in the context of community. We seek it not only for ourselves but as part of the flourishing of the wider world. Our wholeness is bound together.

Community.  It is never the easy way.  But it is the way to being whole.

Healing

I’ve been absent from my blog for three weeks now - an entry here and there, but nothing real substantive.  It reflects the mix of emotions in my life (and my congregation) since our unfortunate meeting on Pentecost Sunday.  I don’t have anything profound to say today, but I need some way of working through my own thoughts and feelings, and this helps.

Yesterday, in our worship service, I realized that I haven’t truly been “present” in our congregation for three weeks (since Pentecost Sunday).  A bit of an explanation is in order, and so we take a tiny detour…

Even though I haven’t warmly embraced the enneagram (which is probably explained perfectly well by my enneagram type), I’ve learned that one of my tendencies is to focus on and minister to the needs of others, sometimes at the expense of my own needs.  After our congregational meeting three weeks ago, I organized a mid-week prayer vigil at the church, and the next Sunday I was the music leader.  My wife and I also hosted a small worship service in our home.  Last week during the other intervening Sunday, we were at a family reunion.  And so, even though I’ve been at a number of church-related services, my focus was always outward toward others, and not toward myself.

And so, yesterday, as I was sitting in our service (and not needing to be responsible for any part of it), I suddenly just felt really sad – a feeling of mourning that I had put off.  I felt my own pain, I lamented for how things might have been different, and I realized how much hurt still remains.

I’m grateful for the meditation that we shared at the worship service in our house this week.  The topic was healing, and it came from a sermon by Megan Ramer, who is the pastor at Chicago Community Mennonite Church.  She shares that, no matter what the source of our hurt and pain, we each have the opportunity, or rather the responsibility, to seek our own healing.  Sometimes others cause us pain; sometimes we cause our own pain; and sometimes we cling to pain “because it’s oddly comforting to suffer those wounds, because it helps us to believe a particular story about ourselves, or [because of] any other mysteriously, uniquely human reason.”  (I’m especially thankful for those words, since I’m often guilty of the behavior they describe.)  In any case, God desires our healing and will heal us if we seek it.

My way forward is to seek healing.  I want to identify my wounds and envision how they might be healed.  I also want to be open to the possibility that the wounds that I identify may not be the wounds that God sees, and that healing, when it arrives, may not appear as I had expected it.

Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

(Philippians 4. 6-7)

My community is in pain

Divorce.  Miscarriage.  Death.

What words are there to describe what a church split feels like?  What do you say when this happens to your congregation?  How do you write when your community is falling apart around you?  I haven’t looked at my blog in three days.  I felt like I should at least acknowledge what’s happening before blogging about anything else.  But I couldn’t.  I don’t have a real big problem being personal in my writing.  But when there are relationships that need to be mended, this isn’t the place to do it.

I have some distance now (two days worth), and I have some hope.  I’m going to try to do some processing here.  I’m going to try to keep it personal.  We’ll see how it works.  Everything I write should be understood to be my perspective and my opinion.  I believe it to be correct.  I also know that I am frequently wrong in my opinion and limited in my perspective, so I am open to correction and other perspectives.

So what’s happening?  Most of you who read this blog already know what has happened – you were there.  Others of you know that my congregation has been trying to discern whether to welcome covenanted, same-gender couples into membership.  Well, on Sunday, we had a congregational meeting that did not go well.  That may be an understatement.  I’ll let it go at that.

My wife and I left afterwards to take our middle daughter to her grandparents for the week.  During three hours in the car, we didn’t say anything unless one of the girls said something to us.  We just couldn’t talk.  We were numb.  We were in shock.  We were overwhelmed and gasping for breath.

When we returned home, we got a call from someone in our small group just wanting the group to get together.  What a blessing.  We took her up on the invitation.  We mostly just sat around a fire pit for the evening.  I suppose we talked, but mostly we were present to each other.

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I regard church membership in much the same way that I regard my marriage covenant.  It’s not quite equivalent, but it’s similar.  Jesus made clear that the marriage commitment is pretty important.  Maybe unfaithfulness is grounds for divorce; maybe not.  I wondered on Sunday if unfaithfulness is what I had seen.  I don’t know; and I won’t judge the conclusions of others or the choices they make based on their conclusions.  It’s just too difficult a situation to know the right decision.

Sometime during a more optimistic moment in the weeks before, I had asked my pastor to remind me what promises I made when I joined our congregation.  I was hopeful then that I wouldn’t need the reminder, but it turns out that it’s good to think about these things ahead of time.  And my wife and I decided that we needed to remain in the congregation, no matter what the outcome might be.  In some ways, this added to our despair on Sunday, I think.  What would our community be like, when the dust settled?  We feel strongly that the Church must welcome LGBT brothers and sisters.  How would we worship in a congregation that doesn’t?

I kept thinking about Chuck Neufeld’s words from the previous Sunday about bearing with one another:

If you bear with me for a moment, then can you bear with me for a time?  And if you bear with me for a time, then can you bear with me for a long time?  And if you bear with me that long, what if you are still bearing with me on something that is confusing to us when Jesus returns?  Do you think Jesus would be displeased?  Or if Jesus would find us earnestly searching the scriptures in a spirit of unity and of joy and of forbearance, would Jesus not say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant”?

Can my wife and I bear that long?

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What hope do I have now?

One of my dearest friends is directly influenced by this mess.  She heard our congregation’s call to “Come follow Jesus with us.”  It doesn’t seem likely now, but not because of any lack of effort on her part.  If anyone had an excuse or reason for retreating now, it is she.  I spent the lunch hour with her yesterday.  I hoped that I could be present, perhaps sitting in silence, and listening if needed.  I heard her devastation and pain.  I also heard her insist on a way forward.  I heard her say that reconciliation is possible, that it needs to happen just because that is what is right.  In all of this, I have seen the light and life of Christ most in her.

If I have hope, it is in the light of Christ.

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Friends, if you’re going through this pain, as well, be present to one another.  Be quick to listen and slow to speak.  Cry.  Grieve.  Pray.  Rinse and repeat.  Remember that if all you can do is groan, you’re speaking the language of the Holy Spirit.

Maintain the unity of the Spirit

I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.  (Ephesians 4.1-6, NRSV)

A couple days ago, I wrote about bearing with one another in love.  Since then, I have been trying to envision what ”maintaining the unity of the Spirit” might look like.  In other words, how do we go beyond an uncomfortable existence to actually living a Spirit-filled life with those with whom we disagree?  There’s nothing new here, but I find it helpful to come to some of my own conclusions, so I’ve brainstormed a few ideas…

• Fundamentally, we should agree not to question the authenticity of another’s salvation, faith, or beliefs.
• We should honor the other’s gifts.  This might involve gifts offered in a worship or study setting, for example.
• Do not neglect the difficult discussions…
• But conduct those discussions at safe, mutually acceptable times.  Find respected people to help facilitate or mediate.
• Pray for one another…
• But don’t pray in a way that you wouldn’t pray for yourself.
• The Church isn’t a democracy.  The well-being of the minority should be vigorously defended.

There are some initial ideas.  Let the discussion begin.

Bear with one another in love

I have nothing new to say about this topic.  But as I observe the struggles that my congregation is currently going through, and as I reflect on the struggles of other congregations, within denominations, and among denominations, I’m reminded of Jesus’ prayer on the night before he died.  It is worth reading again.

I ask not only on behalf of [my disciples], but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. Father, I desire that those also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory, which you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world. (John 17.20-24, NRSV)

How is it that the Church’s history is so filled with splits and divisions, when his final prayer was for our unity?  It is sad.  You would think that we’d pay better  attention to the final lesson of our teacher.

What guidance do we have for how to work toward unity?  Chuck Neufeld spoke to our congregation yesterday, basing his message on parts of Ephesians 3 and 4.  Here is part of that scripture:

I therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.  (Ephesians 4.1-6)

Note the middle portion of this passage.  “Make every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit.”  How?  By “bearing with one another.”  Now you don’t “bear with” people when you’re in agreement.  You bear with them when you’re in disagreement.  And how long should you do this?  According to Chuck,

If you bear with me for a moment, then can you bear with me for a time?  And if you bear with me for a time, then can you bear with me for a long time?  And if you bear with me that long, what if you are still bearing with me on something that is confusing to us when Jesus returns?  Do you think Jesus would be displeased?  Or if Jesus would find us earnestly searching the scriptures in a spirit of unity and of  joy and of forbearance, would Jesus not say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant”?

Is he suggesting that maybe we don’t have to come to a conclusion?  Are we to understand that our first priority doesn’t need to be getting this right, whatever “this” is?  Is ambiguity acceptable?  Might there, in fact, be something more important than orthodoxy?