What Advent and the Christian Unity Movement have in Common

Advent could very well be the ideal season through which to understand the movement for Christian unity.

At least, that is true at this point in history.

That is because the characteristics of Advent are so similar to the current moment we find ourselves in.

Nebulous 

The movement for better relationships among Christians--and ultimately for Christian unity--can be a difficult thing to understand. That is why a paradigm to understand what we are going through can be helpful.

To put it bluntly:  The movement for unity among Christians is a pretty difficult thing to wrap your mind around if you want concrete answers and clearly defined goals. It is often described as "nebulous."

We don't really know where God is leading us. For example, how can we have any kind of unity when people on both sides of a denominational division may think their way is the only way? Either one side is wrong or else we are being led to a truth that transcends our categories. We know Christ himself prayed for the oneness of all believers (John 17:21). So we have faith that what Christ has prayed for will eventually come to pass, but we don't know what that may look like nor can we see the path to get there.

It is easy to look at 2,000 years of Christian wars, reformations and schisms, with the number of denominations counted in the tens of thousands today--not to mention all those individuals and congregations that simply consider themselves "independent"--and then when we consider human nature on top of that, it is easy to resign ourselves to the conclusion that there simply is no path of unity at all.

[Of course, right at that moment, we might be tempted to just give up on unity and accept each other as we are and then boom!  Maybe there is something of a foggy first step to be found there after all... and so the path through the fog continues.]

Going through Advent is like going to the gym. It is like a workout for your faith. It is a time of waiting. We are practicing how to fan a small spark of faith into a flame of hope. We are also deepening our patience through which to endure the lengthy exile we are in. We have to sit and wait not knowing the answers. We learn how to go through life without all the answers.

Whether we like concrete answers or not, we simply don't have them in this situation. However, that doesn't alleviate us from the duty to work towards this goal and to sit in the tension in the meantime.

Advent is a time pregnant with possibilities--quite literally for mother Mary. Here was a young girl who found herself in a very precarious situation. She had a pregnancy that was very difficult to explain. She trusted in God but it was probably still unclear where that journey would take her or what changes her life would undergo. This pregnancy would eventually culminate in giving birth in the poorest, most humble of circumstances and then almost immediately fleeing as a refugee to Egypt to escape a brutal authoritarian ruler's destructive reach. But during Advent, Mary probably didn't know that. She had to simply endure the discomfort of not knowing and having to wait for the answers. Such is pregnancy.

And such is the moment were are in when it comes to the unity of all believers. We know we are called on this path. We know it is in line with what Jesus himself wants. But we don't know where it will take us. And people will tell us we're crazy because we can't offer a clear explanation of exactly what we're trying to do or what it will look like. People will be suspicious that there must be some hidden agenda. But like Noah, building an ark in the desert may seem like pure madness . . . until the floods come.

That's because when you say "yes" to God's invitation you aren't guaranteed a road map of what exactly are your next steps. If you had that, of course, it wouldn't be as much of a journey of faith, now would it?

The Kingdom: Now . . . and Not Yet

There is so much about the Kingdom Jesus alerts us to that is already realized but unseen--and other parts that are not yet fully realized. The unity of all Christians is one of those.  We have to live in the tension between the unity that Jesus prays for and calls us into and the disunity we experience. There is indeed a unity that is already present but we simply can't fully see it yet, even though it's right there. But there is also a true disunity. This disunity has real impacts on our lives and our witness--and it could dampen our hopes.

But it must be stated that Advent is not a time of passivity. There is much that can be done. I'm sure Mary had many daily labors during this time. She took each step that presented itself to her. She did the things she could do. She did today's work today and left tomorrow's work for tomorrow--she had no choice. And neither do we.

The movement for Christian unity follows likewise: We may not know what the "end game" looks like--but there is work to be done today. We can build better relationships among Christians. We can get to know each other in full respect as people of faith. We can do the things together that we are already agreed upon. We can forget about our differences and simply work together. Or perhaps through our differences we may find a stronger voice. We can't just say "there is no way to untangle this mess" and then give up. Advent is a time that speaks to living in this space and which hopefully gives us both the tools and the strength to go through it.

Multi-Generational Trauma and Christian Disunity

One of the deadliest days Catholic-Protestant tension: Saint Bartholomew's Day Massacre by Francois Dubois. Wikipedia Commons.

I often encounter so much resistance from Christians to the cause of Christian unity.

I am often left baffled.

In my humble opinion, there doesn't seem to be enough theological justification for this resistance. There aren't enough cultural reasons, either.

That's certainly debatable, of course. Many would challenge me on this.

But I still get a sense that there is something else going on—some people have an almost visceral reaction toward other Christian groups that is hard to explain through merely doctrinal differences alone.

So what is driving this?

It's like there's an invisible force. Or a ghost, perhaps.

Well, in a sense, I think this is true.

In this blog we often explore the symptoms of a fractured people—in particular, divisions in Christianity. Those fall along doctrinal lines, national origin lines, racial lines and class lines. But they also fall along historical lines.

I'm amazed by how many Christians want to be isolated from other Christians. For example, there are many evangelical Christians in the rural U.S. South who just want to be left alone. They don't want any relationship with any other church, even within their own denomination. Is this just personal preference or is there a back story? Is this what Jesus asks for those who follow in his way?

Perhaps we today don't have a living memory of persecution. Perhaps we don't remember being abandoned or being rejected or having to uproot our family and travel westward to a new country just to get away from all the strife back in Europe. We didn't personally experience the nasty and cruel ways various Christian groups treated each other—up to and including wars and death.

But somewhere deep down in our bones we feel the result of this wound. The memory may be gone but the trauma—and the coping mechanisms—remain. We are only at the beginning stages of understanding how experiences of trauma can be passed down to subsequent generations. But we know it experientially:  Once you start attempting to heal any of these divisions it becomes abundantly clear right away that past is prologue.

Coco

The Disney Pixar movie Coco does a fantastic job of showing how this multi-generational trauma works. This family in Mexico that just seemed to hate music. They did everything they could to avoid music and punish harshly any family member who attempted to play music. Nobody remembered  why and nobody really bothered to ask. It's just the way it was. They just hated music and wanted to be left alone.

[spoiler alert follows!]

As the movie progresses, we discover that the reason this family hates music is that a great-great-grandfather was presumed to abandon his family to pursue a life on the road as a musician. He left a wife and young daughter to fend for themselves, never to see them again. Through great difficulty and innovation, his wife built a new life—but utter contempt for music and anything related to it was painfully stitched into every moment of their lives going forward. I imagine every sound of music brought with it painful memories and grumblings which her daughter and grandchildren picked up on. I imagine they didn't want to see her in pain so they also did everything to shield her from music. Music brought her pain, and it was painful for her daughter and grandchildren to witness this, so music ended up bringing them pain, too—they appropriated her pain. Hating music just became part of the family ethos.

We eventually find out the truth is still more complex—the father intended to leave the road and come home but was murdered by a jealous music partner who wanted his songs to himself. Tragic misunderstandings often play a huge role.

Christian Prologue 

How much do the historical treatments of Christians to one another matter today?

They matter a lot—it is the pain on which so many of our patterns and attitudes have been built. The pain and coping patterns remain long after the original incidents are forgotten.

I can prove it. What happens when you read the word "Viking"? Do you imagine an adventurous seafaring people from Northern Europe? You probably imagine brutal terrorists. Their descendants today are the quite peaceful Scandanvian people. But yet to this day the word "viking" conjures up foreboding. That's because for a period of time the Vikings terrorized much of mainland Europe. Their time attacking coastal Europe was a long, long time ago. Yet this period was sufficiently brutal and psychologically traumatizing enough to carry their reputation forward to the present day.

The church of the western Roman Empire (now called the Catholic Church) actually attacked and sacked Constantinople, the seat of the eastern church (now called the Orthodox Church). Certainly wars between Christians have been common throughout the years, but this was more explicitly tied to religious divisions itself, at least on the surface. It was a thousand years ago but if you unpack the layers of frosty relationship between Catholics and Orthodox, you will quickly notice the impact of this and other similar events.

Catholics murdered Protestants. Catholic and Protestants murdered Anabaptists. And many Christians persecuted pagans, Jewish people and Gypsies.

A colleague explained to me how the Civil War, for example, split denominations in many ways. The different experiences in the North and the South—the suffering, the years of hunger, the humiliation of loss, the feeling of abandonment by their brothers and sister in the faith on the other side of the Mason Dixon line—have left lasting scars that remain to this day. Many today on one side don't even know why they have such feelings toward those on the other side, but they know they do.

Think of how much fear and misunderstanding Christians have for Muslims. Some of this is just stirred up by political forces today. But this negative view of Islam has its root in history. Europe experienced serious defeats during the Crusades. Empires of Muslim people made inroads into Europe in Span, Turkey and Southeast Europe. This menacing, looming shadow was just beyond the sea, ready to strike at any moment. Perhaps they see Christians the same way—it's all perspective.

Actually, Muslim people are as normal and peaceful as people in any nation. But we've been kept apart for so long where fears turn people into caricatures. Just like walking through a dark forest on Halloween, where every noise makes you worry there's a giant or monster right around the corner. This is what fear does. This is why it's so important to get to know people in the present day to dispel those fears and to make sure political forces aren't using those fears to manipulate us.

Going Forward

Even when memory of an event is long gong, the reaction to that pain is often still with us. It may still be in the drivers seat, whether we know it or not. It's actually harder when we are unaware of it—because we are triggered and reacting and there doesn't seem to be a logical reason for it, but logic is not enough to build the bridge. We have to find out what's driving out reactions to one another.

When you start reconciling with people from another group, you may start crying over pain from centuries ago—pain you never even dreamed was relevant to you at all. That's how multi-generational trauma works.

That is why we can't enter a dialogue as isolated individuals. We all come with a history and out of a context, and we all need to respect that. Unity requires lots of reconciliation with the past. It requires lots of apologies and amends and at the very least an awareness of its impact on us today. Even a thousand years later, the pain doesn't simply just go away on its own until it is lovingly healed.

***

This is part 3 in a series around remembering the voices from the past: All Saints Day, All Souls Day and Day of the Dead in Hispanic cultures. Reformation Sunday in Protestant churches. How do narratives we have inherited from the past—accurate or not—affect who we are today?

Part 1: A Tale of Two Americas
Part 2: Family Separation: My Personal Story

Family Separation: My Personal Story

My grandmother immigrated to the U.S. on the SS George Washington.

I hesitate to write the above headline, because the story I'm about to tell is not anywhere near as traumatic as the family separation currently happening to asylum seekers at the U.S./Mexico border. Nor does it compare to the brutal family separation that occurred during slavery, the disappearances during Jim Crow, in Native American "boarding schools" or currently in a culture of mass incarceration and immigrant detention. I hate to compare one person's trauma to another's, but some hesitation is warranted here.

Nevertheless, I think my story does a good job of showing how separation of any kind leaves long lasting trauma that affects our behavior and attitudes for generations to come—and how this trauma needs to be healed before full unity and wholeness in society or our institutions can be achieved.

***

My grandmother immigrated from what is now modern day Slovakia to the United States (Ohio) in the early 1920s. She was 17 years old. She remembered saying goodbye to her mother. At that moment, she instinctively knew that she would never see her again. That turned out to be true.

She did return once to see her family back in Europe in the 1960s. She saw her brothers, sisters and extended family. I'm sure it was wonderful to have that reunion. It must also have been bittersweet to realize all the life together they were not going to experience.

Her first born son Emery joined the Navy and went off to the Pacific theater of World War II. He was 17 or 18—the same age as my grandmother when she left home for good. While overseas, he married a Philipino woman. They had three children, many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They moved around a lot but always stayed in the Pacific rim. They settled on Hawaii, which was a halfway point for their respective families—and close to neither!

Growing up, we would see them as often as once every year. Their visits were full and fun. We actually saw them more frequently, and had more in-depth interactions with them, than some of my other aunts and uncles who lived a lot closer. We made sure to make our limited time together count. But there was always a pain. Uncle Emery and Aunt Betsy just couldn't be a regular fixture. We didn't see them at random weddings, funerals or 4th of July cookouts. We didn't just run into each other in the grocery store. No matter how close we were, the miles between us were always there. I have only seen some of my cousins once in my life.

These experiences of immigration brought out the best in people. It helped them to be daring, entrepreneurial and full of vigor. There is an energy that immigrants have that is hard to find anywhere else. But in these cases, it also brought lasting wounds for both themselves and their families. Some of those wounds have remained for decades, and it's the 2nd or 3rd generation immigrants who have to do the work to restore and heal.

Fast forwards several decades: I come of age. Without considering any of this history, I am surprised by how much hostility my family has to any of my plans to move around. Go to a faraway college? Move to another city? Move out of state? Travel abroad?? All those ideas were met with anger, resistance and disapproval. I actually hid those plans from my folks up until the last minute because I just couldn't bear all the guilt and negativity, which I saw as an affront to my own ideas and initiative. And it was. But today I see some of this in a new light.

I'm sure a lot more factored into my family's reactions than our immigration history, but I bet they factored in a whole lot more than any of us ever realized.

You see, nowadays communication and travel are different. It is relatively easy to get a plane ticket. Highways are well-developed. Phone calls are cheaper, if not downright free with you plan. Social media and video chatting are everyday realities rather than something only imagined on Star Trek. And the Soviet "iron curtain" no longer divides the world. 

But somewhere embedded in my family's consciousness is the idea that people who leave never come back. It's a permanent separation. You might as well be dead to them if you are going to leave your hometown. When I was about to make an out-of-state move, I watched them steel themselves emotionally as if they were preparing for a funeral. Their reactions seemed so over the top, so out of proportion—but today I see it differently. Their reactions were based on the 1920s rather than the realities of 2020.

My experiences are not unlike those of the character Miguel in the Disney Pixar movie Coco. The movie does a phenomenal job showing how trauma can continue to impact people in a family generations after the initial incident occurred, even when the initial incident is unknown to present day people. My family's fear of dividing the family was putting us at risk of causing a rift in the family again.

Multi-generational trauma is a significant factor at the foundation of just about every division in society.

Many people today don't understand why we should do anything to atone for slavery, for example. Or the brutalities of colonization. Many don't understand why we would bother do expend energy trying to mend Christian disunity, especially when some of the wounds are 500-1000 years old! But the more we come to understand how multi-generational trauma works, the more clearly we understand the imperative to do the good, ole fashioned Christian work of seeking forgiveness, atoning for wrongdoings and working toward restitution. Very few things are simply "in the past." People say that history does not impact them, but it clearly does, whether we realize it or not.

Multi-generational trauma impacts the Christian family tree as much as it does any other family. We'll explore that in the next post, stay tuned!

***

This is the second part in our series commemorating All Saints and All Souls Days, as well as Day of the Dead in Hispanic cultures. Reformation Sunday in Protestant churches. The voices, experiences and wounds of people in the past have a greater impact on us today than many of us even realize. On the path toward unity, we have to consider the role of multi-generational trauma plays in our divisions.

Part 1:  A Tale of Two Americas

Church Fire: Christian Unity Comes to the Rescue!

This reflection was shared by a Catholic pastor who lives and ministers in rural Mississippi.


My greatest experience of Christian unity happened about 12 years ago. 

It was late in the evening after a long Wednesday. I was ready for bed but reading.

There was a knock on the door. I was getting settled in and was not in the mood for visitors. 

The person announced that there was a fire! I grabbed my wallet, keys and some clothes and ran out the door, grateful for this intrusion.

Within 14 hours, the church, the rectory (where I lived) and the parish hall were completely consumed in the flames.

It was a hot August day. It never went below 90 degrees all night and was mostly over 100—and that was before adding the extra heat from the fire itself. Seven firefighters went to the hospital due to heat exposure and exhaustion. 

Despite the calamity, I was amazed to see blessings everywhere I turned. The wider Christian community responded virtually immediately:

Representatives from the Mennonite community were at the fire and helped organize relief all through the night. They brought ice water and cold towels for exhausted workers.

The next morning, the local Presbyterian Church told me:  "Our classrooms and hall are yours. We'll have to work out a schedule and lines of communication, but we can do it."

The Episcopal Church said it has an unused office for the Catholic pastor. It even has a private entrance. In time, they put a beautiful sign up.

The Methodist congregation agreed to take over duties of the local food bank that the Catholic Church had been doing.

The Disciples of Christ offered to host local AA meetings and made sure people who needed this group did not miss even one meeting in the transition.

About a dozen Baptist churches took up a collection and sent money.

A Pentecostal pastor shook my hand. When he walked away, I realized he had put $100 in my hand. I remember a conversation I had with him about a week before when he confided in me that he was hurting financially.

Months later, I found myself in need of heart surgery. This was probably due in no small part to the stress brought on by the fire and all its consequences. When I woke up from heart surgery, sitting beside me was an Assembly of God pastor—literally holding my hand and praying for me.

When we think of Christian unity (sometimes called ecumenism) we often think about it in terms of theological dialogue. We imagine representatives from different Christian groups and denominations coming to terms with our various doctrinal differences. Perhaps some of those differences are mere misunderstandings, perhaps some can be resolved through dialogue and study, and perhaps we just have to learn how to sit with the differences that we just can't figure out how to get past at this point in time.

However, the work of Christian unity is also at least partly about discipleship—living out the call of Jesus to "love one another as I have loved you" (John 15:12).

Just do it! Just get out there and love one another! 

Be Christ to one another.

Why would a group dedicated to Christian unity talk about justice?

Justice, and only justice, you shall pursue
Deuteronomy 16:20

A recent question on our Facebook page raised an issue that often comes up in our work. We hear it a lot. I'll paraphrase:

Since this page is dedicated to the pursuit of unity among Christians—especially between Catholics and evangelicals—why are you always talking about racism, immigration and so many other issues of life, dignity, justice and care for creation?

It's an extremely important question. One of the issues with unity is that people have different ideas of what it means. The very definition of "unity" itself has disunity!

If you ask someone who is an Orthodox Christian, they will probably hope your vision for Christian unity includes standing with them against the religious persecution and genocide in the Middle East that is currently devastating their churches. What kind of unity doesn't protect their very survival?

If talk to someone who is African-American, they will probably hope your vision for Christian unity includes healing the ongoing sins of racism that continues to fracture our churches and our society and leaves black bodies dead in the streets, rotting in prisons or suffering in near-perpetual poverty. What kind of unity doesn't advocate for their lives, dignity and equality?

The desperately poor people immigrating to the U.S. from Latin America are almost all Evangelical, Pentecostal or Roman Catholic Christians. If an asylum seeker is denied entry and is doomed to die on the other side of the border, then some statement resolving theological differences may not mean a whole lot to them—they aren't going to feel any warm fuzzies over church unity as they will only feel cold exclusion from (most likely) their fellow Christians. The group that steers this page is comprised of Evangelicals, Protestants and Catholics. Therefore, these are our sisters and brothers in the faith whose lives are at stake at the border. That means something.

So that is why this page and many other unity-seeking organizations eventually find that we have to be a voice for these other issues that exclude so many. The above is not an all-inclusive list, as there are definitely other issues that relate just as strongly.

We know from history that so many of the major splits in Christianity were related to—and were often a direct result of—serious differences in doctrine and theology. But what we often fail to recognize is that there have just as often been cultural, racial, ethnic, national and political reasons that have also  undergirded so many official and unofficial splits over the centuries.

I'll even take it a step father: I will go on record as to say that few splits—if any—have ever been purely theological. Every split is probably a combination of at least two of more of these factors.

Well, they say never say never, right? Given the thousands and thousands of Christian denominations, I can't say for sure that there has never been a split which hasn't been based entirely on theological grounds. However, I would suspect that even if it seemed like there were, there were also probably cultural or generational differences dovetailed into the mix somehow. Even some of the most famous splits, such as between Catholics and Lutherans in the 16th century Reformation or between the Churches of the East and West over the Chalcedonian Creed in the 5th century, may have been driven as much by different cultural approaches to language and inflection that could very well have factored heavily into what seemed like theological differences. In other words, it was like both groups were looking at the same coin, but one was describing the front and the other the back. What seemed like irreconcilable differences were perhaps more a difference in perspective rather than content. Again, I'm not suggesting that this accounts for every point of disagreement, but it has been suggested that this could be a factor—and even a major factor.]

So which are the church-dividing issues that matter most to you?  We'd love to hear your input and feedback! Leave comments here or on our Facebook page.

The UMC and the Challenge of Unity

The branches and leaves in this tree are not unlike the many
branches and denominations of Christianity.

The recent struggles in the United Methodist Church (UMC) over LGBT inclusion raise perennial questions for me:

What does it mean to be “church”? Is there a certain level of agreement that is necessary? Or is fellowship, work and worship with people of diverse viewpoints part and parcel of the necessary work that needs to be done? 

But even so, aren't there hard limits? Deal breakers?

I come from the Roman Catholic (RCC) tradition. If you expect this 2,000 year old, global behemoth of as many as 1 billion people to perfectly represent your own private, individual viewpoints as of February, 2019, you are in for some pretty quick disappointment. I have not yet met a single person who is perfectly on board with every teaching. Nevertheless, you just can't put your life on hold just because the RCC doesn't change. That doesn't stop conservatives, liberals and everyone in between from complaining, however.

The fact that this body changes very slowly is one of its strengths--and some would argue one of its weaknesses. The RCC can quickly remind you that it’s not all about you. This can be a good thing--and a bad thing. You have a choice as a Catholic: You can give up because the church is not the way you want it to be (i.e. made in your image) or you can roll up your sleeves and get to work right here and right now. Bloom where you're planted. It will never be perfectly as you want it, and perhaps it shouldn't be. It forces you out of your self-contained universe. Even if it were to eventually change to suit you better, there is a lot of life to be lived and a lot of work to be done right now.

I'm reminded of that song lyric: "Don't surround yourself with yourself." Good advice.

Many Catholics sit with it this way: They have small body of relatively like-minded people they associate with—perhaps their school, missionary society, charitable works organization or friends and fellowship group they lean on for mutual support. But they also belong to this wider body of the whole Catholic Church. They keep at the very least their toe dipped into the larger pool while also finding that smaller group of people with whom they see eye-to-eye on most things. You end up with the peace activist sitting next to the military general at Mass on Sundays, and on Mondays they go to work against each other again. 

I'm reminded of James Joyce who said of Catholics: "Here comes everybody." Is that a strength or a weakness? Yes.

When you come to a fork in the road such as what the UMC is experiencing right now over LGBT inclusion, it is easy to justify a divorce. The pain is real. The differences in opinion are real, too. But when I look back over the 500 years of Protestantism, I wonder if all that splitting and re-splitting has gotten them anywhere. Some estimate that there are as many as 50,000 denominations! Perhaps divorce is not always the answer. Were all these breaks necessary as people simply ran out of options to stay together? Or were they the result of people who got lazy and didn’t want to be uncomfortable and learn how to sit with real differences? And where are they going with all this fracturing--is there an end game to it all? Are any of these new denominations any better than the previous ones, or are they just re-living the same ole sins and human tendencies in a new form?

Will it just keep fracturing until every single individual is his or her own "denomination"? I say this quite seriously that it may not be a bad thing to simply play out that logic to its inevitable conclusion in this way. After all, each individual already has his or her own theology regardless of which denomination they belong to. Maybe it will help Christianity arrive at a post-denominational point. We'll still need community but maybe not in the way we've been doing it, and this experiment has to play itself out this way to help us get there.

This is not to judge or begrudge anyone who feels their experiences in a particular church community are simply too painful, or the issues too serious, for them to remain. I can't weigh in on someone else's decision. People have experienced very deep wounds and abuses of all kinds, and I do not intend to make light of those in the least. "Unity" has often been used as a justification for sweeping all sorts of misbehavior and injustices under the rug while blaming the very people who are so hurt they feel forced to break away.

After all, what good is unity if you end up supporting a morality that you simply cannot condone? But on the flip side, community is fundamental to a Christian. Learning how to congregate is part of discipleship. Among may other things, it forces us to come to terms with our triggers and internal challenges, to ultimately see a world bigger than ourselves.

I know all too well the struggle and the tough choices that struggle demands. For long periods in my life, I have toggled on the razor's edge between staying or leaving my church. I debated this with myself on an almost daily basis. I was even convinced for a while that living with that tension must actually be our call rather than resolving it either way. All this to say: I get it. 

Community is unquestionably hard. Finding that gospel ideal of perfect unity in perfect diversity is an ever-elusive challenge. I've only experienced it myself in fleeting moments throughout my life. Some communities lean on the side of denying the individual for the sake of conformity. Others celebrate the individual at the expense of the group.

The fracturing of Protestantism has created smaller denominations with oftentimes like-minded people who could perhaps go further in their particular mission than they ever could if they remained within the larger parent group. Some found a safe haven after leaving a painful situation. But there's a cost that comes with that fracturing--the cost of unity and the cost of not practicing how to sit with real diversity (again, not to minimize the real efforts that people have gone through in order to prevent divisions).

People in the UMC are in pain and some are talking schism. It's painful to talk schism. Not to sound glib, but what's one more split in a long history of splintering?  After all, the UMC exists as a result of schism in the first place. Another way to look at it:  If a split in the UMC seems painful today, perhaps that can remind us how painful previous splits must have been (and perhaps still are) and awake in us a desire to mend those fences from previous splits.

Does it matter that there are others out there who call themselves "Christian" who have nothing to do with your particular group? As we ponder a potentially very painful split in the UMC, perhaps it can help us think about all the splits that have occurred in Christianity and ignite in us a desire to heal those wounds, too.

Christians Knowing Christians Without Agenda

Catholic, Methodist and Baptist: Pastors and friends.
Picture and story here.

"My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one,Father, just as you 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."

(John 17:20-21)

What should we do over the fact that Christianity has been fractured into so many denominations, groups and sub-groups?  Some call these divisions a scandal. They say it's against the will of Christ himself (John 17:20-21). Other say divisions are necessary to preserve the purity of the faith. Others say it's just human nature.

A number of people want to mend these wounds and tear down these fences. We may call this an effort toward "Christian unity," or "ecumenism," or sometimes we just call it building better  "denominational relationships."

It is tempting to want to solve the whole "problem." You start asking:  How can we reconcile all differences, heal all pains and represent one unified Christianity? Does that mean everyone joins one denomination or that we all merge together into one giant church?

There may be nothing wrong with those goals. Perhaps Christ himself has something in mind for the Omega point in the future where "all who believe" are indeed "one." Perhaps we already are one in some mystical, cosmic way that only Christ can see but we can only catch mere snippets of from time to time. Even so, it sure seems unfortunate that our outward signs here on earth speak more of division and the very real wounds these divisions have caused.

Perhaps it's the realist in me that is emerging with age or the fact that I've been immersed in this work for a while now, but in my opinion the prospects for Christian unity need not be quite so bold nor immediate. This doesn't mean we quit trying. If Christ wants oneness, then it is our job to keep working for it, even if the goal seems impossible, or at the very least, very far off. In the Roman Catholic Church, recent popes and Vatican documents have all affirmed that it is part of the mission of the Church—and the duty of every believer—to do something for the unity among Christian believers. After all, miracles do happen. More has been accomplished in the last few decades than anyone would have thought possible a short while before. We have to look no further than the 1999 Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification signed by the Lutheran World Federation and the Catholic Church to see profound agreement on the single most divisive issue of the Reformation. This has since been signed on by a number of other denominations.

But a lot of people don't even want any kind of full unity that requires a single institutional church at the helm. Others are too impatient to wait or find the task too impossible. If working towards Christian unity requires someone to affirm these goals, then many will opt out of the whole process

Again, maybe it's the realist in me coming out, but perhaps we should put aside those dreamy, lofty goals. We don't have to give up on our hopes, of course, but we can maybe try a different approach. Instead, here is what I propose: 

At the very least, Christians of all denominations out to get to know each other as neighbors, friends and most importantly as people of faith. If we stumble across a wound, we an do something to try to heal it.  We can celebrate the good things we see in each other and the very real gifts that God has given to others. We can offer constructive feedback to each other when we see things that worry us—and that feedback will be heard a lot better if it comes in the context of true friendship. We can and should do the things together that we can do together.  

Maybe—just maybe—it's perfectly alright if we don't try to change each other or propose some major changes for how the church looks and behaves on earth.  But we ought to get to know each other.

Too often, people imagine an end goal of "perfect Christian unity" and find it either so threatening—or it seems so impossible—that they give up doing reasonable, friendly things in the meantime. They worry they are being asked to give up too much of their identity or beliefs to go down that road. [Just for the record, in my experience, the professionals who work for Christian unity do a great job respecting differences and do not simply gloss over them as a matter of principle, although mistakes can happen in this, but overall this is what I've found.]

We can stay in our respective churches, but we don't have to seclude ourselves in some kind of protective bunker. We shouldn't pretend that the others don't exist and create an isolated bubble for ourselves to live in. After all, we know that other Christians of other stripes most certainly do exist.  We can say "hello," acknowledge each other and get to know each other.

Is this some kind of subversive, sneaky attempt to let our guards down so the ecumenical Trojan horse can enter? Not at all. I am in fact proposing the opposite—getting to know each other without any other agenda or ulterior motive. 

Having said that, I have to admit that change is always more likely when we don't push so hard for it. The paradox is that once we truly—and I mean really and truly and genuinely—respect each other as we are that creates the space for growth, evolution and yes, perhaps even miracles. But perhaps that would all come on Christ's terms and not our own, in which case that would be a wonderful thing, no? Christ seems to work best when we get our own agenda out of the way.

But back to being the realist—I don't need or want to change you. But I ought to get to know you. After all, we both profess to follow this same guy Christ. And we inhabit the same public spaces. As a Christian, part of my responsibility is to at the very least get to know Christians of other stripes and build positive relationships, perhaps even mutually-beneficial relationships, whenever possible. Many Christians are already doing this.

And sometimes in doing this I pause and say to myself... "I actually like that you are different from me.... it gives me a chance to learn something new and see things differently." And maybe somewhere in this we find the miracle of the unity we already have—and a taste of the unity to come.

Ecumenism: The Narrow Path that Avoids Cheap Grace

The narrow path (stock photo):
On one side, a steep drop off.
On the other, a difficult climb.

In working toward better relationships--and ultimately unity--among followers of Christ, I often find people who hold two extremes views. Both of them can be guilty of fostering a kind of cheap grace.

The first are those who are satisfied with division. In the name of doctrinal or moral purity, they are quick to draw hard lines between their group and others. They sometimes even celebrate divisions along these lines, including denominational splits and reformations. These tend to be conservatives.

The other group sees unity everywhere. They simply see unity as self-evident and can't be bothered to dig any deeper. They aren't invested in the work of building unity by addressing the points of division head on, which can often seem too tedious to them. They often act as if unity is already present and they don't have time to sweat over the details. These tend to be liberals.

Both sides are guilty of giving up too easily.

To the first group, yes, there may be times when some formal split may be necessary. But it's not so simple. Scripture calls us in many places to promote the reconciliation of all back to Christ. And even if some demarcation may be regrettably necessary, we should always, well, regret it--we should never celebrate it. On top of that, no group is all good or all bad. God has clearly showered gifts to all people, even to those outside your chosen group. We can maintain hard lines, but those hard lines do not seem to match God's actions nor God's call to us.

And to the other side, if the rules don't matter, then why have them? It is one thing to have a vision for unity. Perhaps from the standpoint of Christ himself, all Christians are already united in him in some mystical way that we cannot fathom. Still, that does not spare us from the hard work of making that unity visible in our lives right now. We can simply say that 'all Christians are one', but our Christian denominations have rules and doctrines on the books which directly contradict that. There have been mutual condemnations and other exclusionary practices. We worship separately, we do charity separately and we often marry separately. Those divisions between denominations have left a long history of real human suffering in their wake, and many of those wounds still need a healing touch. If unity were so self-evident, we should work with our churches to make sure the rules, rubrics, doctrines and practices match what we believe in our hearts.

This is why I always respect those who work hard to thread the ecumenical needles. If Christ calls us together, we should find a way to say that out loud in a way that is consistent with what our respective denominations say. Our rules and practices should reflect that. The work can be incredibly tedious when it comes to hairsplitting differences over doctrines, but again, if those doctrines don't matter, why do we have them?

I appreciate that some folks don't have the patience for this. They may simply say they need to live their lives today and not wait for the churches to come around. People marry across denominational lines and take part in worship celebrations across the board whether they are members or not. There is some merit in this. In some ways, these are the pioneers who help us envision a more unified future. But if we acknowledge this, we have to--by the same logic--respect the folks who want to stay within their divisions for the same reasons.

This is why I want to hold up the ecumenical workers who try to untangle this mess--so that those who feel there is a need for division can be satisfied that that need no longer exists, and that those who believe unity is the ultimate reality can be satisfied that we are able to say that out loud and be consistent in all our statements and practices.

In a time when both sides have difficulty getting excited about the work of Christian unity, I hold that this is work worth doing. But it is a narrow path that takes great trepidation to walk. But it is also a path of love--love for the churches as they are and love for the vision of the unified Kingdom that Christ calls us to. With two outstretched arms, ecumenical workers try to hold both together and become the bridge between them. This is good work.

A Catholic Arrives to the Southern Baptist Convention

Getting to this year's Southern Baptist Convention felt like a reenactment of that classic 80s movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles.

First, there was an early morning drive to the airport only to discover that almost all parking lots were full. A couple drives around the airport and I found an option. 

Next was a turbulent flight crouched tightly in the middle seat while a hyperactive kid was incessantly bugging me: "What game are you playing? Who are you texting? Can I set this food on your tray? Can you push the button for the stewardess? I can't reach it." Queue headache medicine. 

After landing, it took what seemed like hours of wrong turns and coaxing drivers to get a transit to the right airport terminal to find the light rail that took me downtown. Even work weary Dallas travelers remarked to me, "man... you look tired." 

I got off about a half mile from the convention, so with a week's worth of clothes on my back, I made the walk in nearly 100° heat and full Texas sun. Afterwards, the journey to my hotel involved missed trains, wrong trains and even longer walks in the heat with my feet clearly feeling the blisters by now.

What is the point of all of this? Aside from demonstrating a clear case of first world problems, I guess my point is that I would tell all my evangelical friends: Don't ever say I don't make personal sacrifices for the cause of Christian fellowship across denominational lines!

And how small those sacrifices are compared to what so many others have gone through (and continue to go through) elsewhere in the world. I'm safe, well-fed and there's a comfortable bed waiting. We can do better without even much risk.

Before closing for the night, I'll leave you with these thoughts. I saw a sign in the convention area: Every church has a part to play in reaching every nation (posted by the IMB - International Mission Board).

I don't know the intentions of the authors. How wide of a scope did they imagine in this statement? More importantly, how wide of a scope do YOU think it has? 

Is this just for Southern Baptists, or at least other evangelicals?

Can Catholics think this way of Protestants? Can both liberal and conservative churches regard each other this way? Can we all believe that each church, each denomination, each theological system has a unique role to play in reaching people that other churches, denominations and systems either can't or won't reach--despite their imperfections (or maybe even through their imperfections)?

Sure, there are limits, but what if our limits are too, well, limiting?

Christian Unity: Warts and All

"I love you, warts and all," says this frog.
Picture from National Geographic Kids: http://tinyurl.com/ybvwz388

I've noticed a generational divide in the quest for Christian unity. People of different ages often articulate different priorities.

Many veterans of the work for Christian unity focus on what Christians have in common. Younger ecumenists often talk of finding peace in the midst of real differences.

This divide follows a natural pattern of healing and reconciliation. It reflects more than just two sides of the same coin.

When two groups first attempt to open a dialogue and mend a wound of division—a division that in some cases goes back hundreds of years, such as between Protestants and Catholics—it can be very delicate in the beginning. There is also a freshness as the relationship is pregnant with possibilities. It can be easy to be giddy with joy and see only positives.

It may be astonishing to discover that you are not as different as you were previously led to believe. You might even find kindred spirits in that "other" group.

The goal is to just start talking. Hundreds of years of separation between Catholics and Protestants have left a lot of hurt feelings and old triggers, and there is no sense stepping on any proverbial landmines in these first encounters. There is joy in just making the initial contact. You can dispel rumors and misconceptions but otherwise leave differences aside—they don't seem very important when members of the Body of Christ finally start talking after such a long, weary and costly separation.

When the prodigal son returned, his father embraced him. That moment was not the time to hash out who was to blame or identify which differences may remain. Their commonality as family was more important at that moment. [To be clear, I am not suggesting that the divide between Protestants and Catholics is like "father" and "son," I'm only using that story to illustrate an appropriate behavior when two separated parties finally reconnect for the first time.]

I'm sure this is what it felt like after Vatican II closed in 1965. Catholics in particular had the approval of their church leaders to interact, pray and engage with Protestants in ways that were previously strictly off-limits. Many Protestants were also committed to this (some have been working on unity for much longer) and the ecumenical movement was in full bloom.

As the relationship matures, however, it eventually becomes necessary to transition to a different phase. Focusing on similarities can run the risk of sweeping problems under the carpet if left unaddressed. This method which initially worked so well can devolve into a strained politeness. Ignoring differences also cloaks the full dignity and expression of each party, as people may feel pressure to downplay important parts of themselves for the sake of the relationship.

Ecumenical leaders have been working for decades trying to find out how to achieve the unity Christ himself prayed for (John 17:21). They do not attempt to water down or ignore our differences (as some critics wrongly claim), but often they hope that the differences may not be as severe as they initially seem—perhaps they can be boiled down to difference in perspective or the use of language but are not at their core church-dividing. Their success in this has been astounding.  However, after many documents of understanding, clarifying of ideas and mending of social and psychological wounds, sometimes what is left are still some very real differences. What, then, do we do with those?

Recent comments by Vatican officials from the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue give witness to the process:  "We are challenged then to go beyond the confines of tolerance by showing respect to all individuals and communities for everyone desires and deserves to be valued according to his or her innate dignity."

Respect for similarities is a great first step. The Vatican is right that the next, necessary step is to continue to respect each other even being full aware of each other's differences—not just tolerating differences but respecting people in those differences.

I'm reminded of a Billy Joel lyric from the song "This Is The Time":  You've given me the best of you, but now I need the rest of you.

If you want a person in your life, you want the whole person, not just the picture-perfect persona who shows up on the first date but the real nitty-gritty—"warts and all" as the saying goes.

At some point, the differences and messy disagreements are necessary to sit with. You don't always have to fix them or find a way around them—you have to first just let them be. By doing this, we may discern the next step in the relationship.

A relationship requires some things in common, but it is not stable if it depends entirely on having things in common. A mature relationship develops when people who are legitimately different can still come to the table in good faith and mutual respect. True respect means accepting the whole person, including all the attributes that don't neatly fit with yours. Those differences may eventually be reconciled, but we still have to learn to be in relationship until that happens.

This is not in any way to downplay the importance of identifying things in common. I work regularly with Roman Catholics and Evangelical Christians who are still meeting each other for the first time. Those initial encounters are still happening in rural towns in the U.S. where my organization primarily ministers. Identifying commonalities is still very much the work that needs to be done in these areas. The first step, however, must eventually be followed by next steps. Respecting differences is key to this next phase and, once we live this out, I believe it will help us see the phase that comes after it.

Treasure Map: Christians United in the Search

Confusing passages in Scripture are an unlikely conduit for Christian unity.

For 2,000+ years, Christians have studied the words of Jesus, the Apostles, Ancient Israelite prophets, psalmists and lawmakers in the Bible. We have been locked in theological debate over the meaning of life and how to achieve the union with God we so desire.

For as many times as preachers tell us "the Bible clearly states," the truth of the matter is that it is not very clear about much. For every line that says one thing, we can find others that seem to say something else. I'm not suggesting that the Bible doesn't point us into a singular direction, because I think it does. I'm just saying that it can be hard to figure that out when reading the text at face value.

Some estimate there are as many as 40,000 denominations of Christianity, many of which claim that their precise doctrines and Biblical interpretations are the "right" ones.

If you approach the Bible as if your very eternal life depends on getting the precise theological formula right, it can be an enormously frustrating text.

Treasure Map

We often treat it as if the Bible like a mysterious treasure map. It is written in ancient, coded language that is hard to decipher. Our modern day preachers may tell us it's straightforward, but if that is so, why do Christians spend so much time agonizing over lines of Scripture trying to figure out precisely what it means? Why didn't God just hand us a bullet point list?

If the Bible is God's life-or-death, desperate message-in-a-bottle to us, why in the world is God making it so difficult? There are literally dozens and dozens of Scriptural references to things like salvation, justification and sanctification, for example. And what those words meant 2,000 years ago may be very different from what they mean today. There is no possible way to reconcile all of them into one coherent theology. Even if it were possible, the task it would take to do that would be beyond what any one person could do.

Why in the world would God play with us this way?

It seems like an extremely cruel joke. God gives us riddles and clues hidden in this 2,000+ year old collection of puzzles, which need to be translated into various formats and languages, and it's up to us to figure out the riddle before the clock runs out and it's eternal curtains on us.

Even the most twisted episode of The Twilight Zone was not nearly so twisted.

What Is Our Task?

I do believe that it is our job to pray unceasingly, study fervently and devote ourselves to contemplation of the texts. I do believe God keeps us on our toes. We are called to grow deeper in our knowledge, sensitivity and wisdom. I do think there are consequences of where our journey takes us and what conclusions we reach.

But I also believe there is a whole lot more grace and mercy in the system that we have been led to believe. The Bible may be less of a book of answers than a book of really good questions—and in those questions lie the answers, but perhaps not in the way we typically think. The questions we ask of the Bible—and perhaps more importantly the questions it asks of us—are perhaps more important than the answers.  In other words, it would seem that God wants us to struggle, debate and search unceasingly for the answers. The search itself has value. That is the only thing that makes sense based on how the Bible is put together.

What can we deduce from all this?

#1:  We need to be part of a community of believers who help us in this journey of understanding.

#2:  We need to take the conclusions of that faith community seriously, and that includes doctrines and dogmas.

#3:  But maybe—just maybe—we can dispel some of our anxiety about the conclusions we reach.

After all, the very idea that Scripture is a riddle to figure out with eternal consequences is an assumption that we bring to it. Nowhere in the Bible does it say that this is how we must approach it.

Christians United in the Search

Our common faith in Jesus and our mutual pursuit of the Way of Jesus should be enough to make us all traveling companions one with the other.  Christians are all trying to figure it out, live it out and grow into it. Even though we have come to different conclusions and have different ideas as to what it all means (conclusions that we are continually adapting), we all share in this common journey.  And maybe that's enough of a foundation for the unity of all believers.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; 

but then face to face: 

now I know in part; 

but then shall I know 

even as also I am known. 

1 Corinthians 13:12

The Simplicity of Discipleship, the Complexity of Beliefs

If you ask what "Christian unity" means, the first thing most people talk about is their beliefs: 

Do we believe what this other church believes?

Are we saying the same things just in different ways? If not, do we try to convince them that we are right?

However, Christians may also be united by having common practices, too. In fact, this is the area where most of us have the most control and opportunity to explore right here and now.

If we focus too much on beliefs, we can be paralyzed to do anything when those beliefs seem to differ. This is especially true when some denominations require global councils with ample study, debate and votes before any change happens.

Many denominations have been divided for hundreds of years. Unless a miracle happens quickly, many of them will continue to be divided for probably hundreds more. Perhaps that's pessimistic, but there is an opportunity that comes by being realistic here: We have to figure out how to live out our Christian discipleship today in light of these differences.

I see the relationship between belief and practice as reciprocal—belief informs practice and practice informs belief.  In other words, when groups work together for a common cause it is good to look for signs of the unity that may emerge out of those efforts. 

People who hunger for unity among Christians usually recommend that we approach this task from both ends of the spectrum. What I mean is this:  On one side of the spectrum, church leaders and theologians work out the details that divide churches and see what's possible in the nitty-gritty details of doctrine and policy. They have made some rather amazing accomplishments in the last few decades, but it is slow and painstaking work.

On the other end of the spectrum, the rest of us can and should do together what we can in our Christian practices. Our churches may be formally divided in a number of ways, but we can all pray together. We can serve the poor together. We can raise our prophetic voices together. Our beliefs may seem like a tangled mess, but there is a wide open highway for living out our Christian practices available to all of us right now.

You might think that evangelizing is probably one thing we shouldn't do together. That certainly depends on how you want to understand evangelization, because we witness to the faith in all that we do--that list above, which includes prayer, justice advocacy and charity are all forms of evangelization, as well. We all know the famous quote attributed to St. Francis of Assisi: "Preach the Gospel at all times, use words when necessary." You get the idea.

Surprisingly, it was foreign missionaries who first started the modern ecumenical movement. They were having trouble gathering people into the church when the presence of competing denominations raised questions as to the validity of Christianity itself. You might think that the last thing a Catholic missionary would want to do is evangelize together with a Protestant or Evangelical missionary. What they found out is that staying in their separate, protected bubbles was not attractive to outsiders. With the fear of opening up and losing a few, they closed down and probably lost a lot. Why would someone be attracted to Christianity when even the Christians themselves can't agree on what it's all about? We should add evangelizing to the list of things we can do today.

Jesus prayed that "all who believe may be one" (John 17:21), then as followers of Christ we ought to hope and trust that this prayer will one day come true.  It seems like an impossible task.  Followers of Jesus started breaking away from each other right from the beginning. It is recorded in the New Testament. Divisions did not just begin with the Protestant Reformation in the year 1517!

There is a concept called the Lund Principle which argues that churches should only do the things separately that our denominational rules require us to do separately! This is pretty ambitious, but it is a goal worth working towards. If we take seriously that Christ wants unity among believers, and our churches don't have full unity, we can be stuck between a rock and a hard place. The Lund Principle helps us by pushing our churches to open up in the areas where we freely admit there is no reason to stay apart.

Our churches may disagree on the proper methods of baptism and who can and should participate in worship services, but we all affirm that Jesus commanded us all to "love one another." Jesus even said that that should be first and foremost. You could just be so busy loving one another that you don't have any time to squabble over doctrinal differences. Perhaps that overly simple. Perhaps it's simply beautiful.

We might as well spend our time doing that, because it's going to be a long time before the churches formally unite together. We don't know what that unity might look like or how it might come to pass here on this fallen planet, but one thing we can probably agree on is that it's probably not going to happen today. Or maybe better said--it might happen today, we can and should have abundant hope that it happens today, but we should also have a plan of how to live out our Christian discipleship if it doesn't happen today.

Let's not obsess so much about differences in beliefs and doctrines to the point where we fail to do what we already can do. Beliefs are interesting things to ponder over and raise our voices over, no question about that. But in the meantime, there is work to do--there is a lot of work to do.

And maybe--just maybe--by living out the unity that is already available to us, we may find that elusive unity that we have been missing. We may find that unity not in the destination but rather on the way there. If we wait to work together until full unity has been achieved, we may fail to do the very thing that will help bring it about!

Unity and Diversity

The Pope approving the statutes of the Order of the Franciscans,
by Giotto, 1295–1300,
from Wikipedia page on Francis of Assisi.

This comment on a previous post got me thinking:

I agree that there is a diversity of doctrine among the members of congregations, I wish you had addressed the limitations of such diversity, instead of just blessing it. It seems that, if the diversity becomes too great, the church becomes paralyzed and is never able to speak or act as one--Frank Ruff

***

It is impossible to explore the topic of Christian unity before diving headlong into a discussion of unity and diversity.  That’s the crux of the matter, no pun intended.  How do we congregate together into some kind of a unity while also acknowledging and respecting all the differences among people and in their beliefs and actions?

You might even say the history of Christian denominations is a history of this very question. Denominations have broken off either because people perceived there wasn't enough breathing room for diversity or because people thought there was too much and wanted a stricter observance along certain lines. Has there been any split that didn't occur along these fault lines?

Too much unity and we can end up with uniformity--everyone looking, acting and speaking identically. It can be suffocating and brittle. People have to dampen or hide part of who they are in order to belong. It doesn't respect the full, unique dignity of every person who was created by God with a myriad assortment of attributes and temperaments.

On the flip side, too many differences and we can end up with chaos. People may simply dissipate from each other, not in a cataclysmic fight but more of a gradual drifting away. There has to be some underlying principle of unity that bonds people together, otherwise there's no reason to have anything to do with each other.

Even when people disagree over doctrine they often can still be united enough in their practice of the faith.  Too often, Christianity has focused on having the right beliefs but Jesus is the Way as well as the Truth.  Many longstanding Christian denominations have a detailed list of doctrinal beliefs that the tradition has handed down. But even with that, the actual members of any congregation may be divided in what they actually believe and practice. Churches like to pretend everyone is on board, but that is simply not reality.  In those cases, the people are still united enough to congregate together, do service together, worship together and work out their spiritual walk together.

It's not a question of unity or diversity. It's not simply about unity and diversity, either. as if those attributes could sit side by side somehow. We are looking for something much more intricate and woven together. We are all looking for that unity within our diversity.  They are not opposing concepts, even though their dynamics can appear that way. We can't harmonize our differences to the point of wiping out differences. Some groups have tried, but the differences did not actually go away--they were just painfully swept under the rug, only to reemerge later.  And we shouldn't accentuate our differences to where we forget what we mean to each other and how we are related.

So then where is the balance between?  Well, that's the million dollar question. I think our churches, and the whole human race, struggles with this question every day. I've experienced (near) perfect unity in diversity only momentarily in this life, but it's amazing to get a glimpse of it.

I’ve always been impressed studying Catholic Church history and looking at Pope Innocent III.  When St. Francis and St. Dominic came onto the scene and started their orders of mendicant friars, the Church could very easily have splintered into different factions.  The Franciscans and Dominicans were different enough in so many ways--from each other and the larger Church--to warrant breaking off.  Instead, the pope was able to hold it all together. Likewise, the friars were willing to do their share to stay part of the universal Church.  A couple hundred years later when Martin Luther proposed reforms, there was no room for diversity--or even room for discussion and debate--and the Church splintered.  That splintering continues today. 

That same inability to tolerate diversity—or stay in communion during times of disagreement—is a sin that stains all of western Christianity.  To this day, the theological beliefs of Franciscans can be tremendously different than those of Dominicans, yet they stay together. I think most people would be absolutely shocked to find out exactly how different those different schools of thought actually are. For example, they have monumental differences in how they understand Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection. Dominicans lean much more toward atonement theology while Franciscans affirm something more incarnational.  Catholic theologian Hans Küng even said once that the differences between Catholic schools like these are often greater than the differences between Catholics and some Protestants.  Yet, in the genius of the 13th century, the decision was made to stick together while the decision made since the Reformation is to split in response to disagreement. 

Who's at fault for the Protestant Reformation? That's a 500-year old debate and one I'm not likely to solve here! That's like asking who is at fault in the case of a divorce. Usually, it's a safe bet that both sides are equally responsible. It's almost always best to start with this assumption unless circumstances strongly prove otherwise. It's always possible that one party was just too unwilling to cooperate or that one party was able to reach out and create an opportunity for reconciliation when none seemed possible. In the 13th century,  both sides were willing to pull together and make compromises. Both sides were stubborn and willing to split in the 16th.

Too much rigidity and you break. The people who love strict rules should realize that rigidity also precedes schism. Yet, too much compromise and you can end up compromised. I don't know what the right formula is, but I think there is something in the example of Francis, Dominic and Innocent III that we should take seriously.

Just Say It, Jesus!

Detail from "Sermon on the Mount" by Carl Heinrich Bloch

Jesus was action-oriented. He avoided questions about his identity. He spoke in parables rather than in theological explanations. He spent time with all sorts of folks and performed a lot of healings (both of body and of the fractures in society), and he ultimately suffered, died and rose from the dead.

Christian theological debate, by contrast, has been obsessed with beliefs more than actions. These include pinpointing the specifics of Jesus' identity and the nature of God. There are many preachers today who will tell us that our very eternal fate depends on getting certain theological concepts right.

But ask yourself this:

If those beliefs are so important--if our very destiny for all eternity depends on adhering to the right set of beliefs--then the puzzling question is: 

Why didn't Jesus just tell us? 

Jesus could have simply said, Hey you know, I'm fully human and fully divine, I'm part of the three persons of the Trinity, and you need to do precisely A, B and C to be in good standing with this Christianity program I'm rolling out. Oh, by the way, I want to see churches, cathedrals and Mass on Sundays, yadda yadda.

There are lines in the New Testament that are instructional. But let's be honest--they are wide open to all sorts of interpretations. All interpretations are not equally valid, but there is plenty of room for significant disagreement.

Jesus had every opportunity to tell us that we had to have certain beliefs. There are hundreds of pages in the New Testament and a handful of authors. Any of them could have spelled it out in black and white. They could have made a list. Why in the world did Jesus tell stories with unclear meanings if having clear, succinct theological answers was so important?  It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

If razor-sharp doctrinal understandings are so important, then the New Testament actually comes across as a cruel trick. It is like the most sinister scavenger hunt where the stakes couldn't be any higher.

Are we to buy the argument that God speaks to us in puzzling metaphor, allegory and code, and it's up to us to decipher nuanced theological interpretations in order to stay in communion with the Body of Christ?

I think it is much more likely that Jesus wants us to be engaged in the process of figuring things out. He wants us to wrestle with the deep issues. He wants us to struggle over paradoxes and parables. It's more about the questions than the answers. It's more about the process than the conclusions--"The medium is the message," as Marshall McLuhan said. 

Like a Zen master, Jesus confuses us on purpose. His stories seem to turn reality upside down. The parable put issues side-by-side that normally do not exist side-by-side. As a mentor of mine used to say, "out of confusion comes clarity." Jesus scrambles our brains so that we jar ourselves lose from the false reality around us so that we can get a glimpse of the Kingdom.

 

"What if changing our perception of God

 has the potential to change everything?"

-- Richard Rohr, The Divine Dance

The process of doing theology does matter--but maybe not in the way we think. Maybe it's more like going to the gym. You pick up weights and then you put them back down. The world has not changed at all, but you have changed in the process. Theology is important--I am writing, after all, a blog on theology at this very moment--it just needs to be put in its proper place in the hierarchy of importance.

Are our beliefs a pathway toward God or a way to build imaginary divisions between people?

Most Christians believe that God is a Trinity of three persons. But some Pentecostals are not Trinitarian. Muslims affirm the same God that Abraham affirmed, but Islam has some significant differences from Christianity. Are some of these folks outside of the reach of God's love and mercy as a result? That seems enormously difficult to believe. It took western Christianity about 300 years to formulate the precise language for the Trinity and the dual natures of Christ. Those debates have been recorded in the writings of early Christians. What became of the people who didn't understand the Trinity before the larger Church accepted it? What about the people who grow up immersed in one faith tradition and not another?

It is not the New Testament that is playing a cruel trick on us--it is the longstanding malady of obsessing over theological beliefs that gets us off track. It leads us on a wild goose chase, demanding that we find answers that Scripture itself probably may not even give to questions it is not even asking.

I totally understand that church communities will want to take the paradoxes and parables and try to extract from them some guidelines for living life on earth. However, we cross a line when a church community is married to its own conclusions. If those conclusions were so important, Jesus could have simply given them to us. He didn't. It has taken the churches hundreds--and in some cases thousands--of years to come to certain doctrinal conclusions. It's got to be more about the struggle. Rules and laws have their place, but they only make sense if we are compassionately involved with our whole being in the questions.

If black-and-white answers to questions of belief were of such paramount importance, why did Jesus seem to do everything EXCEPT give them to us?

I think there is great freedom in this. I'm sure it ruffles the feathers of people who are devoted to a particular set of doctrinal beliefs. But for the rest of us, it's bread for the journey and par for the course.