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In order
to ease some of your minds, while perhaps troubling others,
let me say that I have no plans, any time soon, to do anything
other than I am presently doing or serve anywhere else than
I am presently serving. Meaning that I am happy with my vocation
and my location.
But I
have been pondering of late how ministers move from place
to place in differing denominational cultures. Without moving
my gas gauge even a fraction of an inch, I can drive to a
Presbyterian church, a Baptist church and an Episcopal church
... all of them local ... all of them substantial ... all
of them influential ... all of them resourceful ... and all
of them currently looking for senior pastors. The fact that
they are "looking" differentiates them from United
Methodist churches, given that (in our system) ministers are
sent to us, rather than found by us. Which means that we Methodists
miss out on all the fun of electing a search committee ...
reading hundreds of resumes ... logging thousands of miles
... interviewing dozens of candidates ... paring the list
to twenty ... then to ten ... then to five ... wining and
dining the five (or, in the case of Baptists, lemonading and
dining the five) ... then, two years later, selecting the
one ... and getting it wrong 50 percent of the time.
I am puzzled
as to why their system doesn't work better than it does. Or
better than ours does. It seems to have so much going for
it. So many talented people. So many miles logged. So many
hours spent. How can they go wrong? Ever?
Well,
I'll tell you. At the end of all that work, search committees
opt for "safe" over "brilliant." There
are a couple of the "final five" who might be inspired
choices, but they have an "edge" to them. With which
seven members of the committee resonate. But not the other
two. So the committee members begin to think:
If two
of the nine have even a hint of a reservation, that's 22
percent of our committee. And what if they represent 22
percent of the congregation? We had better be careful. After
all, our church is 100 years old. And we expect it to go
for 100 years more. We had best be mindful of our history.
Our third choice has no creative edge. But our third choice
has no rough edge, either.
And so,
on the brink of a brilliant choice ... yet feeling the weight
of history upon their shoulders ... they reach consensus around
a lesser, albeit well-rounded, option. Leaving many feeling
they could have done better, yet relieved (at least for the
moment) that they didn't risk worse. Which is why, in such
systems, it is fascinating to know who the committee almost
picked ... but didn't.
Still,
I understand "committee mentality" better than I
used to. Indeed, there are days I even applaud it. And pray
for it. Like these days in Cleveland, where over 1,000 delegates
(equally divided between laity and clergy) are gathered for
the General Conference of our denomination. Which happens
once every four years. And which, in recent years, has been
filled with tension. Not that our denomination is unique.
It is so with every such body. Feelings run high. Disagreements
run deep. And the patience to wait for the discernment of
the Holy Spirit comes no easier to institutions than it does
to individuals.
Which
is why (even though I am not without conviction as regards
the issues being debated on the shores of Lake Erie) I hope
that those delegates also feel mildly burdened by the weight
of history. I hope they will remember the 216 years that have
"brought us thus far on the way," not to mention
the next 100 years, in which we Methodists could do even more
for Jesus Christ, assuming that we have the energy after fighting
each other.
Which
sounds strange for me to say. Those of you who know me, know
that I am a fighter. But what I have been fighting all week
long ... and will probably continue to fight all next week
... is fear (and just a bit of depression). My fear is not
that 1,000 delegates will split the church I love by Friday
night. I think there are enough built-in safeguards to render
us schism-proof for another four years. Instead, my fear is
that when all is said and done, I will have more pieces to
gather and fractures to heal than reasons to celebrate. But
may God's name be praised, should history prove me wrong.
I comfort
myself in remembering that Christians have always fought ...
and that, from time to time, some have even fought dirty.
Yes, the church is of God. But it is filled with human beings.
And I
further comfort myself in knowing that some of the issues
are worth fighting over ... weighty matters that some feel
are incredibly close to the core. Which explains why many
have gone to Cleveland, saying: "Stands must be taken
here. And stands must be taken now." Nearly four and
a half years ago (in a sermon entitled "How to Get Along
in a Church Where Not Everybody Thinks Like You Do"),
I said:
As United
Methodists, we have managed to skirt schism, while surviving
many of the fissures that have fractured others. But it
is not certain we can do so forever. In fact, our luck may
be running out. For it is clear that in reaction to all
the diversity we have assembled under the umbrella of our
unity, there is a lot of infighting over who is going to
hold the umbrella's handle.
This year's
diversity issue is homosexuality. It is not the core issue.
The core issue is how one reads the Bible ... and whether
the Holy Spirit ever says anything new to the church (or may
be saying anything new to the church on this particular matter).
But since the core issue is far too big (and far too theological)
for 1,000 people to settle in 12 days of an already jam-packed
agenda, the discussion will turn on a far different problem.
Not on whether we should live with gays institutionally and
minister to gays pastorally. Nobody disagrees with that. But
whether we should liberalize stances concerning the ordination
of gays and the blessing of same-sex unions between gays,
or should we make our prohibitions (concerning these matters)
even more restrictive than they are at present? More to the
point, the issue is: "In which direction, if any, shall
the needle be nudged?"
Frankly,
I do not expect it to be nudged at all. Which, depending upon
how you look at it, is either the coward's way out or the
reluctant admission that God's timetable for resolving such
things may not necessarily coincide with yours or mine (no
matter how "right" we may think ourselves to be,
or how passionately we articulate our conviction).
What concerns
me this morning ... given my prediction that nothing is going
to change ... is how we will settle. Notice, I did not say
"settle our differences." We are probably not going
to settle our differences. Our differences are not going away,
at least anytime soon that I can see. I think I know where
we will be 40 years from now. But I do not know where we will
be four years from now. So, over the shorter of those spans,
how are we going to settle ... as in "settle in"
... "settle down" ... "settle up" ...
so that life can go on and we can go on.
Two thoughts.
Neither of them new. Neither of them brilliant. But both of
them manageable. And sufficiently simple, so as to be recollectable.
1. We
need to listen to each other's stories.
2. We
need to cut each other some slack.
First
things first. What do I mean by "stories?" I mean,
how (as Christians) did we get to where we are? And what events
in our living have shaped the direction of our thinking? I
love the Lord. Every minister on this staff loves the Lord.
And each one of us has a "love story" to tell.
Kris and
I were recently out with Sylvia Rector Hill and her husband
Charles. If you recognize Sylvia's name, it isn't surprising.
She reviews restaurants for the Free Press. And the
four of us were on a restaurant review. I won't tell you the
name of the place. But I am glad it was a multi-star establishment
that was having a good night. Because I was feeling a tremendous
pressure to be kind.
But we
didn't spend the whole evening talking about food. Instead,
we talked about what all couples talk about, the first time
they get together. We talked about how we met ... when we
married ... and what has happened since. In short, Kris and
I told a small slice of our love story, whereupon Charles
and Sylvia told theirs.
Similarly,
every Christian has a love story. It is the story about how
each of us first met and started hanging around with Jesus
Christ ... in short, a discipleship story. Not about a theology
of discipleship. Not whether women should be disciples ...
gays should be disciples ... liberals should be disciples
... advocates of Believer's Baptism should be disciples. Not
whether discipleship mandates a particular position on the
issue of abortion. But about how we became disciples. How
we signed up ... or were signed up ... along the shore of
some lake, or at the end of a fear-and-trembling trek to the
altar of some church.
And once
we inquire after someone's story and listen to it when it's
told (I mean, really listen), we will begin to see how they
got from there to here ... from then to now ... and from their
experience of faith to their articulation of faith. We may
not like where they are coming out. But there can be no disagreement
as to where they are coming from. Because they are "coming
from" a meeting with the Lord, don't you see. Which is
the same place we are coming from.
Let me
be dangerously direct. After eight years among us, our bishop,
Don Ott, will retire in August. As our spiritual leader, he
has been faithful and forthright. Friendly, too. But not always
popular. There are two reasons for this. First, his writings
on physician-assisted suicide. Several years ago, Bishop Ott
was called for jury duty on one of the "Kevorkian juries."
Given his obvious gifts and graces, he was selected to be
foreman. And given his statewide visibility, he became a target
of the press. And while he took pains to distance himself
from Dr. Kevorkian's methodologies, he acknowledged (in heart-wrenchingly
personal and thoughtful ways) his nearness to Dr. Kevorkian's
sympathies. For which he was alternately applauded and vilified
by persons inside and outside of the church.
Then,
four years ago, on the eve of the last General Conference,
Bishop Ott signed a document with 14 other bishops (some active,
some retired), urging the church to move in the direction
of a more pastorally-sensitive and institutionally-permissive
response to our gay and lesbian sons and daughters, brothers
and sisters. Again, more applause. Again, more vilification.
Was
his leadership compromised?
Probably.
Was
his timing politically astute?
Probably not.
Has
it cost him professionally?
More than we will ever know, I would guess.
Has
it authenticated him spiritually?
More than we will ever know, I would guess.
Was
I with him then?
No.
Am I
with him now?
No.
Am I
closer to those applauding him than to those vilifying him?
I'd have to say that I am.
Does
everyone at First Church (especially those on the payroll)
stand where I stand?
Not really.
Is that
comfortable and convenient?
Not really.
Should
that trouble us?
No, it might even be good for us.
Concerning
Don Ott, all I can say to you is this. There does not appear
to be a political bone in his body. And if I could put him
with you ... in groups of ten ... for two hours ... over coffee
(he drinks nothing stronger) ... in your living room ... you
would leave saying:
I may
not agree with some of the things he says. But I have been
in the presence of a man of God ... who walks with Jesus
... knows the Spirit ... is rooted in the Word ... and who
opens not his mouth in public, before he has opened it privately
in prayer.
Let us
listen to each other's stories. And then let us cut each other
some slack.
There
is no way for anybody, even me, to like everything that every
branch of the church does. Which is true locally, every bit
as much as it is true denominationally. Consider our local
church budget. There is at least one line item in its 11 pages
that will offend everybody in the room. But not the same line
item.
Still,
give me three weeks ... along with access to a minivan (locally)
and unlimited frequent flyer miles (internationally) ... and
I will take you on a journey that will boggle your mind, dazzle
your eyes, and warm the cockles of your cold and critical
hearts. All of which will lead you to say: "Bill, I never
knew. And because I never knew, I only half believed. And
because I only half believed, I never gave what Jesus asked
of his church, or gained what Jesus promised to his church."
Sure,
we're gonna disagree. Sure, we're gonna argue our disagreements.
A woman came halfway down the stairs at three o'clock in the
morning and stood on the landing, watching her husband (sitting
at his desk) vigorously filling a yellow pad with notations.
At last, she said: "John, what in the world are you doing?"
To which he said: "Well, if you must know, I am making
a list of the things you do that bug the daylights out of
me." She watched him for what seemed like several minutes
(but may, in reality, have been more like one or two). Whereupon
she said: "Why John, do you have a list, too?"
My friends,
everybody's got a list. And in every church I have served,
there have been people (thankfully, few) who have kept their
lists very close to my face. I know they are into stuff on
their lists when their question begins: "Bill, don't
you think ... ?" Whereupon, they proceed to tell me what
they think (in a tone that suggests I had better be thinking
what they are thinking when I finally get around to responding)
... especially if it concerns something at the top of their
list.
But to
them ... and to all of us ... I would say: "Maturity
(in a marriage ... in a family ... in a congregation ... and,
yes, in a denomination) sometimes requires a little slack
in the list ... a little play in the list ... along with a
little grace and mercy in the list.
I find
it interesting that the Apostle Paul, everywhere he went (Asia
Minor, Turkey, Greece, Italy, you name it) always asked his
gentile house churches to take up an offering for the mother
church in Jerusalem. Keep in mind that Paul had numerous run-ins
with the mother church in Jerusalem ... didn't always like
the "good old boys" of the mother church in Jerusalem
... was, himself, viewed as a second class apostle by the
mother church in Jerusalem (because he hadn't had a flesh-to-flesh
experience of the risen Christ) ... and watched his male converts
denigrated as second class followers of Jesus by the mother
church in Jerusalem (because they hadn't submitted to appropriate
foreskin surgery). Yet still he said (every place he went):
"We're gonna take a collection. And we're gonna send
it on to headquarters."
Let's
wrap this up and put it to bed. I was talking with Dave Cox
in my driveway last Friday night. Our subject was the earliest
building project either of us could remember. I mean, back
about the age of four. We racked our brains and came up with
two. One was a fort. Everybody remembers building a fort.
Its purpose was to house a few close buddies ... all of whom
knew the secret code, secret grip and the secret word ...
and all of whom hated the same enemy (usually girls).
The other
building project was a bridge. You probably remember building
a bridge, too. It all began with a bubbling stream. The stream
was filled with rocks. And either we repositioned the rocks
so we could step from one to another, or we dragged the dead
trunk of a tree so we could lay it across the water. Sometimes
we even used rotting boards, the remnants of a fort we built
and abandoned the previous summer.
All I
know is that it was easy to build a fort ... risky to build
a bridge. Still is, I suppose. But the last thing the Christian
world needs is one more fort.
*
* * * *
Final
question. This one from me, to me:
Ritter,
is there anything that could happen in Cleveland (over the
course of the next few days) that could cause you to jump
ship?
No, not so far as I can see.
Why
not?
Two reasons:
1.
Everybody's gotta be some place.
2.
Besides, I've got all this history.
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