Strait And Narrow Minded

I was a pastor in New Jersey when the General Assembly gave our Presbytery a couple of pretty controversial amendments to consider. There were two main issues. The first was the elimination of the “fidelity and chastity” language from our ordination standards. The second one was the lordship of Jesus Christ.

Some of our leaders seemed to have trouble affirming that Jesus is the "way, the truth and the life," and that there is "no other way to the Father but through him." Well, the reason for this, we were told by one clergy commissioner who sat on that committee, was that they were hurt and offended by the implication that they needed to affirm that central truth of our faith. “We made those vows when we were ordained, and we affirm it every day,” she said. The problem is, of course, that we’ve discovered over the last few years that people don’t all mean the same thing when they take those vows... A lot of people, it seems, even clergy, means that Jesus is their personal savior, but that other people might have a different one. But that’s another sermon.

Another pastor rose and told a story of how she had come to change her mind about the ordination of homosexuals by having come to know and love as a friend a lesbian woman who was at seminary with her.

Then someone else got up and said, “What are we doing wasting our time arguing about sex? Can’t we just love one another?”

Another pastor rose and raised a point of Biblical interpretation, wondering if we were still supposed to follow the law in Leviticus that condemns the practice of homosexuality and mandates death for offenders. “Which part of this passage is the word of God?” he said. “Both, or neither, or only half? How can we decide?”

One of my favorite colleagues, a solid evangelical with a well-deserved reputation for plain speaking, rose to respond with a two-minute explanation of the basic principles of interpretation, namely, that the gospels interpret the Old Testament, and that the Epistles - the letters - interpret the Gospels. Most of us learn this during the first year of seminary. He ended by saying that what was wrong with our denomination was ignorance of Scripture.

At this point someone else got up and expressed hurt feelings.

Well, it was a very unproductive and frustrating meeting. I spent the next few nights lying awake rehearsing the things I wished I had said, but couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to because I put in my two cents worth early in the meeting, and the only people who got to speak more than once were the ones whose feelings had been hurt.

And so after a few days of this mental churning, I wrote a two-page letter which I initially planned to send to the Presbytery newsletter. I named names, summarized their arguments, such as they were, and blew them out of the water with clear logic, sound reasoning, and pertinent Biblical quotations. As much as I hate conflict, I was ready for battle. I didn’t care how mad people got.

And then I went and asked for advice. I got it.

What I was doing was not loving, To be perfectly frank, it was not Christian. Remember what Peter said in his first letter? I had just quoted it in another sermon. “Now who will harm you if you are eager to do what is good? But even if you do suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed. Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated, but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord. Always be ready to make your defense to anyone who demands from you an accounting for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and reverence. Keep your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who abuse you for your good conduct in Christ may be put to shame. [1 Pet 3:13-16] That’s what Peter said. Was I being gentle and reverent? No.

I also said, in that same sermon, “loving people - even difficult people, people who have wronged us and aren’t even sorry - people who may continue to do wrong - loving them keeps us from being poisoned by the conflict.” Well, the truth is, I was letting myself be poisoned by the conflict. And so I had to bite my lip, eat humble pie, tear up the letter, and go home and ask forgiveness. It hurt. I hate being wrong.

At least I kept it among friends... and I don’t think I made any new enemies. I hope.

What’s the point of all this?

It’s that being a Christian isn’t easy.

It would have been natural for me to express my frustration, to point out the flaws in other peoples’ reasoning and perspective. It’s natural to want to win, and especially when the issues are important, it’s natural to drag out the biggest guns you have to make sure you will win.