An Ecumenical Pragmatist (Part I): Searching for Places to Root and Serve

Well, I got my copy of Steven Harmon’s book Ecumenism Means You, Too: Ordinary Christians and the Quest for Christian Unity in the mail today. From what I’ve perused, it has already got me thinking about the unity of the church. But I have to confess, I probed the last couple of chapters first…Sorry, Steve.

But the reason I did was because the title of Chapter four caught my eye—10 Things You Can Do for the Unity of the Church. Within chapter four, two of those ten (though all ten are thought-provoking in their own right) resonated with me. And here they are: “Third, commit yourself to the life of a particular church, warts and all; and fourth, embrace a particular denominational tradition” (pp. 60-61).

Commit yourself to the life of a particular church, warts and all…embrace a particular denominational tradition…

This of course is not such an easy task for those whose churches or denominations have deemed them to be of little or no value, e.g., GLBT Christians among the ranks of most Protestants as well as Orthodox and Roman Catholics, not to mention the Church of the Latter-day Saints. And in response, a number of reconciling congregations have popped up over the past two decades. But is this a vestige of unity? I could also add the plight of women in ministry to this totem, which is a considerable part of the SBC (Southern Baptist Convention) & CBF’s (Cooperative Baptist Fellowship) story.

The reason I mention the GLBT community and the plight of women in ministry is because I, too, presented the Church with its own perceived incongruities about what Christian families and church staff should look like. My family represented an interracial one. I mean, what was the church to do with a white man and his black wife and mixed children wanting to serve in a congregational setting, especially in the Deep South! This definitely presented a dilemma for most. And, when God called me to the ministry (my beautiful family being a part of this as well), though I experienced a rush of unexplainable joy and humility, I soon felt forlorn and confused to say the least. I mean, I truly felt like I was on the island of misfit toys—that somehow I was tolerated as long as my role in the church didn’t allow me the rights and responsibilities of clergy status. And that’s when I began to search for something new—the way of the Baptists.

As my family and I trekked towards the Ohio Valley to attend seminary, I knew that I didn’t want to force my family makeup on any weary congregation—an itinerant system like the United Methodists (the denomination I grew up in), I thought, was out of the question. So, we found an American Baptist congregation in the heart of Dayton, Ohio. Within a couple of months, our family was received into the congregation, and we became Baptists! I soon combed over all the Shurden books I could get a hold of and became part of lively discussions of what ordinances and baptism for Baptists is all about. But seminary in Ohio became short-lived, and we soon moved back to Georgia, where I finished seminary at a respected Baptist seminary.

But what I soon found out in Georgia was that there wasn’t a place for me to serve and support my family at the same time. The story of the Georgia Baptists felt far removed from my experiences and readings of the Northern Baptists. Again, I didn’t “fit.” So, in hopes of finding ministry work, I returned to the United Methodist Church.

Fortunately, I found some ministry work, but at a price—the fact that I studied at a Baptist seminary instead of one of the United Methodist’s most premiere seminaries in the South isolated me within the episcopacy system. Thus, I had to come to grips with the fact that if I remained in the United Methodist Church, ordination might not be an outcome. And I still wrestle with that from time to time.

But the point of sharing my church story is this: For those of us who may seem flip about joining and serving within a certain denomination or church, the truth is that we are trying to find our way to worship, serve, and identify with something larger than ourselves that touches our inmost part of who we are in Christ. Although I want to be committed to a church or denomination, the larger institution must allow me to work and serve so that I can reside or find a place to root.

I’m reminded of a letter by Mark Rothko (one of my favorite twentieth-century painters) written to Yale University. It was an acceptance letter for which Yale bestowed Rothko with an honorary doctorate. This was a humbling honor because Rothko began his undergraduate studies at Yale, but never finished. Although Rothko is writing about the artist’s life, the underlining spiritual tone speaks to the very center of being ecumenical:

When I was a younger man, art was a lonely thing: no galleries, no collectors, no critics, no money. Yet it was a golden time, for then we had nothing to lose and a vision to gain. Today it is not quite the same. It is a time of tons of verbiage, activity, and consumption. Which condition is better for the world at large I will not venture to discuss. But I do know that many who are driven to this life are desparately [sic] searching for those pockets of silence where they can root and grow. We must all hope that they find them (1969).

In others words, being an ecumenical pragmatist is not a nasty word—it is a search, or better yet, a voyage some of us are willing to take. It’s my hope that we will find those pockets that we can eventually grow and serve within.

I’m fortunate today to serve a mid-size United Methodist congregation in North Georgia. They accept me and my family, and they give me the opportunity to lead. It’s not always easy (congregational ministry never is), but a spirit of mutuality and reciprocity reside within the community…that’s unity!

Suggested Readings:

Ecumenism Means You, Too: Ordinary Christians and the Quest for Christian Unity; Steven R. Harmon

Hope for the World: Mission in a Global Context; Walter Brueggeman (editor)

Joined in Discipleship: The Shaping of Contemporary Disciples Identity (Rev. & Exp) Chapter 10; Mark Toulouse

A Baptist Manual of Polity and Practice (Rev.); Norman H. Maring & Winthrop S. Hudson

The Baptist Identity: Four Fragile Freedoms; Walter B. Shurden

Baptist Life and Thought: A Source Book (Rev.); William H. Brackney (editor)

United Methodist Beliefs: A Brief Introduction; William Willimon

Word, Water, Wine, and Bread: How Worship Has Changed Over the Years; William Willimon

In His Own Words, Bo Bartlett, Art and Life

Worship as Christian Identity

But returning to the story of Saint Anthony (in previous blog), the reader may detect that this story is much more than just a reflection of one’s search for communion with God. One gets the glimpse that the solitary venture is checkered with elements of spiritual warfare:

So he was alone in the inner mountain, spending his time in prayer and discipline. And the brethren who served him asked that they might come every month and bring him olives, pulse and oil, for by now he was an old man. There then he passed his life, and endured such great wrestlings, ‘Not against flesh and blood,’ as it is written, but against opposing demons, as we learned from those who visited him. For there they heard tumults, many voices, and, as it were, the clash of arms. At night they saw the mountain become full of wild beasts, and him also fighting as though against visible beings, and praying against them. And those who came to him he encouraged, while kneeling he contended and prayed to the Lord. Surely it was a marvelous thing that a man, alone in such a desert, feared neither the demons who rose up against him, nor the fierceness of the four-footed beasts and creeping things, for all they were so many. But in truth, as it is written, ‘He trusted in the Lords as Mount Sion [sic], ‘with a mind unshaken and undisturbed; so that the demons rather fled from him, and the wild beasts, as it is written, ‘kept peace with him’ (Robertson; Schaff & Wace, p. 210).

What can be gleaned from Saint Anthony’s experience is that for an individual to expose one’s self to the presence of God in solitary confinement, so to speak, brings to light one’s inner demons that must be wrestled with in the hopes of true reconciliation to God and to self. Again, the argument that one can worship God on the golf course on Sunday morning is far from an authentic experience with the living God.

Because, for most, the solitary venture is not only arduous but also dangerous in terms of emotional, physical, psychological, and spiritual aspects of the individual, the need to reframe worship within a communal setting is warranted. And yet, the author appreciates the vocational calling of those (monks and nuns) who give themselves over to a life of prayer and service.

Communal Response of the Faithful
Much of what has been passed on to the Protestant churches in terms of communal worship models has been attributed to the 19th century philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard. It was he who elaborated on the communal experience of worship in that the congregation should be active participants in the service. In other words, passive by-standers are not the intent of the communal experience. Author Daniel Benedict, Jr retells the story of a young Ephesus girl within such a community that values her baptismal experience as their own:

As they had done during the months of scrutiny and instruction in the way of Christians, Lydia’s grandparents stood with her now in the crowded room. Small oil lamps burned, giving only enough light to illumine the faces of the presbyters, deacons, and her fellow candidates for baptism, who also were accompanied by their sponsors. On the way to the church they had passed the smoldering remains of a bonfire. Lydia stood shivering on the cold stone floor in the predawn, wondering what would happen next. Whatever it was, she wanted it to happen quickly. Lydia was a fourteen-year-old Ephesian, but she was eager to become a citizen of heaven. She knew she was ready to be one of them, as she had told her grandparents some weeks before….A presbyter directed the candidates to spit repudiation on the devil and renounce all the works of darkness….Without a word, Justina, another deacon, led Lydia down the steps into a pool.

Above, on the edge of the pool, the bishop bent over, tapped Lydia on the shoulder with his staff and asked her, ‘Do you believe in God the Father, the Maker of heaven and earth?’ She hesitated, unsure of whether to answer aloud or just think her response. Justina squeezed her arm and pointed to the bishop, prompting her to answer aloud. ‘Yes, I do,’ said Lydia. And before she knew what was happening, Justina, a stout woman, pushed her under the water. Lydia struggled back up, gasping for the breath she had not taken after her answer. She wanted to cry but didn’t know why. Then the bishop asked, ‘Lydia, do you believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only Son; born of the Virgin Mary; suffered under Pontius Pilate; was crucified, died, and buried; and descended to the dead? Do you believe that he was raised on the third day and ascended into heaven?’ This time Lydia did not pause but shot back, ‘I do,’ grabbing her nose as Justina again pushed her under the waves like Jonah being cast overboard. A third time the bishop tapped her on the shoulder with his staff and asked, ‘Lydia, do you believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting?’ This time it was beginning to be fun as she found the rhythm of call, response, and dunk! Justina guided Lydia up the steps to her grandparents, Marcus and Julia, who were waiting to embrace her with a towel and words of rejoicing. Then they clothed her in a simple white garment.

One by one the other candidates were immersed as Lydia stood in the warm glow of lamps on the wall sconces, and sunlight began to peek in through the clerestory windows at the top of the room….Her attention snapped back to the present moment as she heard the sound of singing on the other side of the double doors. The words were no longer indistinct: ‘Christos aneste…’ (‘Christ is risen…’). The singing grew louder and louder as if faith was growing with excitement. The bishop interrupted the singing as he pounded on the doors with his fist and chanted in a different key, ‘Christos aneste!’ Lydia heard the people inside join the chant, singing: Christ is risen from the dead trampling down death by death and on those in the tombs, bestowing life! The bishop, standing at the now open doors, called out, ‘Let the newborn of God join the assembly.”

There in the crowded assembly room were the faces of those Lydia had seen on Sundays when she had gathered to hear the reading of the holy scriptures and the preaching of the bishop. They looked like angels rejoicing. Heaven was opened in proud welcome as the bishop led the newly born into the midst of the assembly (2007, pp. 81-85).

This is a beautiful description of a community in response to the individual’s rite of passage. It is also a telling story of how the community is being responsive to one another. Worship in this setting in which, as the bishop stated, “Christ is risen!” is bringing forth the good news to a community that has its identity shaped and formed by scripture and response.

In its infancy, the Church formed itself around four distinct modes of worship: study/preaching, fellowship, breaking of bread, and the prayers/hymns (Acts 2: 42). Remembering that the Church was Jewish in its matrix, the reader would be cautioned to view this early Church through the lens of 21st century Christianity. But, at any rate, the distinct Messianic appeal of the early Church categorized anticipated hope of Christ’s return. In fact, an early follower of Jesus may have viewed the breaking of bread as a messianic anticipation:

Perhaps every meal for the church was experienced as an anticipation of the Messianic banquet, a foretaste of Jesus’ promise that his followers would ‘eat and drink at my table in my kingdom (Luke 22:30).’ In their eating and drinking the resurrection community is already a partial fulfillment of that promise, enjoying now what shall soon be consummated in the kingdom of God. The prophet’s call is fulfilled, ‘Ho, every one who thirsts, come to the waters; and he who has no money…Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price’ (Isa. 55:1) (Willimon, 1988, p. 41).

Like Lydia’s story, the early Church worshipped in response to the anticipation that Christ is risen and death is gone!

There's No Need to Go It Alone

One of the early Church Fathers, Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria, provides a telling story of a courageous monk who found communion with God in a shanty, located on a lofty Egyptian mountainside. This monk, Saint Anthony of Egypt, was transformed by the hearing of scripture while attending church one morning. His heart became transfixed on the following passage and later it took root as a portent of faith to come:

After the death of his father and mother he was left alone with one little sister: his age was about eighteen or twenty, and on him the care both of home and sister rested…Pondering over these things he entered the church, and it happened the Gospel was being read, and he heard the Lord saying to the rich man, ‘If thou wouldest be perfect, go and sell that thou hast and give to the poor; and come follow Me and thou shalt have treasure in heaven.’ Antony [Anthony] as though God had put him in mind of the Saints, and the passage had been read on his account, went out immediately from the church, and gave possessions of his forefathers to the villagers (Schaff & Wace, 2004, p. 196).

Saint Anthony interpreted the reading of scripture as his invitation into a spiritual vocation that the early Church was in the process of coming to grips with in the 4th century CE—asceticism.

Asceticism became the mode of best practices for those searching for communion with God. These practices entailed solitude, contemplation, fasting, and prayer. The goal of asceticism is to denounce aspects of living that are common to most (companionship, food, entertainment, etc.) in the hopes of gaining something purer and better for the ascetic—the glory of God.

The early Church was caught within this tension of the individual search for God and its institutional belief that communal worship equates to salvation. It was to the Church’s credit that it soon reconciled itself with the ascetic through the support and encouragement of the taking of vows or orders from monastic communities which centered its life and ministry from the guidance of a rule or set of communal guidelines, e.g., the Rule of Saint Benedict and of Saint Francis. Although we often think of the ascetic life as a solitary endeavor, the search for the glory of God soon became known as a communal one where communities of monks and nuns centered their lives through the teachings of the great ascetic figures of their time.

LOVE WINS - Rob Bell