Hope in the Simple Things
It started over a cup of coffee.
In the summer of 2004 two friends from seminary, both associate pastors in prominent downtown congregations, met for coffee in Richmond during General Assembly, the bi-annual gathering of lay and clergy representatives from throughout the Presbyterian Church USA. After catching up with one another, they began talking about the events of the Assembly. Both were incredibly frustrated with the politically-charged atmosphere, as well as the enormous amounts of time spent huddling and strategizing instead of praying and working together to make our church a healthier, more faithful place.
One asked a question: “Do the people we see doing battle through interest groups and on the floor of GA really know each other at all?” More questions followed. “What would things be like if the people (on the left and the right) who are so frustrated with each other now had been in relationship with each other the whole time? Would the conversation sound any different?”
From that meeting came a vision of something that could start a different kind of conversation, a pastor peer group, modeled after the PC(USA)’s Task Force for Peace, Unity, and Purity, a church-wide commission that has been trying to find ways for disagreeing Presbyterians to co-exist peaceably with one another. The two invited a small group of young pastors from across the political and theological spectrum—all recent graduates of Columbia Theological Seminary in Decatur, Ga. —to meet in Montreat in February 2005. For a couple of powerful days, they—we, actually, for I was one of the classmates they invited—sat together. And we learned.
The conservatives learned that the liberals took the Bible more seriously than they had thought. The liberals learned the conservatives aren’t as hard-hearted as they had thought. Everyone relearned some of what we already knew—that there are no easy answers, and that we all have a long road ahead of us. We tossed some bombs onto the battlefield over a variety of critical issues that are dividing our church, speaking passionately and powerfully. We also realized how troublesome our language could be. Perhaps our greatest lesson was about the limitation of the labels “liberal” and “conservative.” One might be quite “liberal” on issues of ordination, but be quite “conservative” on issues of worship. We tried to take great care not to let inadequate language shape our rich and multifaceted conversations.
After these hard discussions, we worshipped, sang, and prayed together. Often, in the wake of these activities, the tone of our conversation changed, becoming friendlier and warmer, the tension easing. After worship, we turned on some music and spent hours into the night telling stories about our families (and maybe a few about our congregations), laughing, catching up, and enjoying each other as friends, as peers, as brothers and sisters in Christ. And though in one sense we didn’t resolve anything—no conservative became liberal, and no liberal became conservative—the ideas that the Holy Spirit put to work in us have greatly affected our common ministries.
Since that first meeting, it has been a challenge to keep up our momentum, but so far we have been able to do it.
We returned to our congregations hopeful, and received support from many quarters—more than we expected, to be honest. A few months later, in Fall 2005, we received a grant from Columbia’s Sustaining Pastoral Excellence project, S-3 (Study, Sabbath, Service), which we used to facilitate continued conversation by e-mail and to hold another meeting of our group—now called Common Ground—last May in north Georgia.
At that gathering, we deliberately chose not to schedule formal discussions on controversial issues, deciding instead to let them happen informally and naturally. Together, we tried to envision a future for the church we all were just beginning to serve. We spent time discussing leadership styles, church governance issues, worship forms, and our call to evangelism in a pluralistic context. Into the evenings, we talked about our churches, passed around baby pictures, prepared meals, sang, and prayed. We still argued about the report from the Task Force on Peace, Unity and Purity—a document that has generated much debate throughout the PC(USA)—and many other things. But the slow, relentless movement of the Spirit continued to wear down our anger, resentment, and rough edges. Some good food didn’t hurt either.
None of which is to say this has been easy.
Our difficulties have been both internal and external, both among and within our group and in our relationships with those outside. The internal challenges have been the most predictable. How do you step back from an argument, especially when it gets heated? What do deep, committed friendships look like among people who disagree on fundamental issues of faith? Because churchgoers often get their news about denominational issues filtered through their pastor, we challenged each other to be even-handed when talking about such matters with our congregations. We have asked each other, “Would you knowingly disobey the Presbyterian constitution?” or “Would you ever try and lead a church out of the PC(USA)?” Few of us have ever been directly confronted with these questions. As unpleasant as these conversations have been, we needed each other to keep us accountable.
The external difficulties, though, have been more complicated.
Since we began our group, many of us have been invited to presbytery or interest group gatherings to speak about what we have been doing. Inevitably, we are warmly greeted at such events, which leaves us both encouraged and confused. “Why is it that what we are doing is perceived as so radical?” we ask each other. We have received great affirmation and support, with many kinds of people saying they find us a source of hope.
We have also, at other times, felt “patted on the head.” Many clergy (and laypeople) have spoken to us as though we were naïve youngsters who will “get it” one day, when we have seen what they have seen, when we have fought the battles they have fought. These people find us pleasant, but our task ultimately untenable. The world, they say, just doesn’t work this way.
For me, this has been the most difficult part of our work. I struggle to understand people with whom I tend to agree on most issues of faith, but who seem jaded from years of arguing. Being a part of this peer group has created more tension for me with people on my “side” than with those on the other. My friends on the other side of the liberal/conservative divide have challenged me to see a broader vision of church, a vision that often conflicts with the myopic worldviews that pervade our personal affinities. How do I tell my friends—the people on “my side”— I think they are pursuing a faithful cause in the wrong way? How do I deal with being called a sellout for even being willing to talk to the other?
One story continues to haunt me.
Last year, a few of us from Common Ground participated in a panel discussion at an interest group gathering. We told our stories, and fielded a couple of questions. The conversation with the audience was awkward, and I, for one, felt a bit dismissed. Afterward, as we were transitioning to dinner, a pastor came up to me, thanking us for what we were doing. He told me about his own efforts years ago to form relationships across theological differences, and the deep betrayal he felt when one of those friends “spied” on one of his worship services for a special interest group. Their relationship was shattered, and they didn’t speak for many years. But recently, they began trying again. It was slow, he said, but they were working hard to resume the conversation, both knowing how important it was. And this man, with tears in his eyes, told me how lonely he had been when that relationship fell apart. Not only did he have no one to support him, but also no one to remind him of the importance of reconciliation. Eyes glistening, he told me that the support we were providing each other gave him great hope. If he had had such support, he said, his own ministry might have been different.
And that, when it gets down to it, is what we are seeking to do in our peer group.
Despite the ongoing battles, both within the PC(USA) and across the current U.S. religious landscape, we continue to talk with one another by e-mail and by phone. We try to gather once a year. We struggle with Scripture, and we pray. We ask each other tough questions. We seek to support each other in ministry—through the times when we are troubled and angry and the times we are most confident that God will do something miraculous and new.
At the end of the day, our differences are no less real. Yet, we are reminded of the One who continues to bind us together. It happens through simple questions, through listening, through prayer, and by gathering around a table with food and something to drink.
I seem to remember that working well in other settings, too.
The Rev. Chris Tuttle is pastor of Faith Presbyterian Church in Greensboro, N.C. An earlier version of this article was published originally in the February 12, 2007, issue of The Presbyterian Outlook.
