Brethren orthodoxy

A little while ago (I can't seem to find date stamps on his blog), David Stiles wrote this post about Feast of Love, in which he urges COB progressives to split from the Church.  I find this a little unfair, given Carl Bowman's analysis showing "gay supporters" are more likely to find staying Brethren important than "gay opposers."

What got me going as a seminary student, though, was this particular wording:

If congregations find themselves outside of the basic orthodoxy of the COB, why continue to fight?

Firstly, it seems like a big leap to name the Church of the Brethren Annual Conference's position on same-sex covenental relationships as constituting or being key to the basic orthodoxy.  When someone asks you about the Church of the Brethren, what do you say?  "We're Anabaptist [and here's what that means], we're a peace church, we practice simple living, and we're opposed to the homosexual lifestyle?"  Does it really make it on to that list?  Why this, and not our statements about depleted uranium and global climate change?  What makes the 1983 human sexuality paper so basic to what it means to be Brethren?  And more pointedly, Brother David, why this and not our position of women in ministry?  Why must those who disagree with this Annual Conference statement leave, but not those who disagree with that one?

Secondly, and more broadly, I have a real problem with the phrase "Brethren orthodoxy."  The word "orthodoxy" derives from the Greek orthos, meaning "right/true/straight" and doxa, meaning "opinion/belief," and the word means exactly what that would lead you to suspect.  It seems to me the Church of the Brethren--this "no creed but the New Testament," "no force in religion" church--has no orthodoxy.

Another word, which might be more relevant to us Brethren, is "orthopraxy," which means "right action/activity."  It seems more appropriate for a church whose Annual Conference has much to say about practices, but little to say about what one should think or believe.  Even this monumental human sexuality paper makes no claim against those whose beliefs run contrary--it is only concerned with actions.

So I put forth that the Church of the Brethren has no orthodoxy, but does have an orthopraxy.  (I ran this by one of my professors, and got a nod of agreement.)

But this orthopraxy is not found in some sort of inerrant Constitution passed down by the founders; it is found in the statements we make, modify, and strike when we meet every year for our Annual Conference.  It changes constantly from what previous generations held, whether due to new information, issues our predecessors did not face, or evolution of moral thought.  What our orthopraxy is next year may be very much different from what it is this year.  That is simply how it's done in this church--attempts to forbid further efforts at change fly in the face of how we as church make our decisions.

One last note: Even orthopraxy, in the Church of the Brethren, is limited in scope.  It isn't found so much in statements like the 1983 paper--which are, after all, merely reflections of what the majority of gathered Brethren believe--but in our polity.  "You can't be in a same-sex relationship" isn't our orthopraxy; "You can't be openly gay and be a licensed minister" is. (I have previously indicated that I think "we don't agree" would be more helpful than "fifty-one percent of us think this.")

It seems to me that preaching a "Brethren orthodoxy" is a far more serious split from Brethren tradition than are evolving views on human sexuality.

Scarves

by Nick Miller Kauffman

I'm (still) watching Annual Conference business via webcast, where they just concluded business dealing with a query on decorum, questioning the appropriateness of rainbow and black & white scarves (the former expressing support for LGBT people, the latter supporting a literalist biblical interpretation).  The query was returned, but as I watched the discussion, there were a lot of comments that mentioned both scarves in the same breath.  I think it's important to distinguish between them.

I do not wear a rainbow scarf at Annual Conference (excepting one evening last year).  I actually agree with the sister who compared them (and the black & white scarves) to "gang colors."  I appreciate their intent and am a big fan of shows of solidarity, but I suspect their effect is more isolating than inclusive.  I surely don't think they should be banned, I just don't take part in that particular demonstration.

But we shouldn't compare rainbow scarves to black & white scarves.  The former are intended as a show of support for an oppressed and silenced group; they are a stand against a majority.  The latter are a direct response to the former, which means they are worn in opposition to the display of solidarity with an oppressed minority.  Those with a literalist biblical interpretation may themselves be a minority, but they are certainly not silenced.

In the same way, a White Student Union would be different from a Black Student Union.  Flying a "straight pride" flag would be different from flying a "gay pride" flag.  I am not the biggest fan in the world of rainbow scarves in our particular context, but the black & white scarves seem downright malicious.  Rainbow scarves are a disenfranchised group standing up and demanding they be counted.  Black & white scarves are a powerful group reminding others of their power.

The stakes of our disagreement

by Nick Miller Kauffman

Every time I hear a formal discussion on the "homosexuality and same-sex covenantal relationships" stuff I find myself getting angry.  I hear lots of code words, a lot of "unity of spirit" talk that falls flat on my ears, and what I perceive as a reticence to name what's really being discussed.  And this anger is bothersome to me, because I like to be detached and rational.  I like to pretend I can use reason to arrive at the "right" answer, and when emotions get in the way I wonder if I'm properly understanding what's going on in my mind.

The problem I have with the special response process as handled by the Church is that the Church suffers the same bias I have, which is a desire to treat things with a high degree of rationality--or rather, a twenty-first century, touchy-feely rationality that breeds such comments as "we encourage people to engage LGBT people in conversation," and talk of our "disagreement."

If we are encouraged to talk to LGBT people, it implies that they are a "they," that they aren't part of the conversation.  That we are a bunch of straight people debating what to do with these other people, and though we don't agree, we can at least be high-minded and talk to them.  Much as the vice president of a college might think herself a better person for stooping to talk to the blue-collar workers whose supervisors she supervises.*  This is not a conversational relationship between brothers and sisters, probably because we don't want to admit that while we debate whether to condone LGBT people doing the same things as straight people, some of those people are present at the table.  Awkward!

I think this is starting to get at the second example, which is the language of "disagreement."  That word seems to connotate something academic, like whether one identifies more with utilitarianism or deontology, or perhaps a matter of taste, like whether one enjoys strawberries in the summer.  It's easy to forget just what kind of disagreement we're talking about: namely, whether one party of this disagreement is to be treated as fully human.  While recognizing that analogies can only take us so far, imagine for a second a conversation (many of which assuredly happened) between an opponent of civil rights and a person of color, in which the opponent of civil rights--a person opposed to sharing a drinking fountain, sending his children to the same school, or having to intermingle at the front of the bus--ruminates about the importance of maintaining unity despite a disagreement.

If you find yourself on the conservative side of this question, I'm sure you feel that the comparison is unfair.  But that unfairness is probably born of the same repulsion that I feel at the scenario I've described, so know this: LGBTA people feel that same repulsion, that same injustice, that same exclusion, every time you talk about our disagreement.  When you have a civil disagreement or a polite conversation with someone whose very nature you believe to be sin, whose call to ministry you flatly reject, and whose covenantal relationship you think should never be affirmed, you are sweeping a lot under the rug.  Believe you me, the "trust" we keep being urged to have cannot exist in such a dynamic.

Sometimes, in a fight that concerns justice, you don't get to keep the peace.

I'm not trying to argue for acceptance (at this precise moment).  This post isn't to try to convince people who disagree with me to change their minds.  I just want you, and the Church, to understand the stakes of our disagreement.




*If this strikes you as a weird and confusing example, just skip over it.  There are other things that make me angry.

In support of Earl's sermon

by Nick Miller Kauffman

Since we're talking about it, the text to Earl Fike Jr.'s sermon is here.

Ironically, before Earl Fike Jr.'s sermon, I commented to my friends that I'd sure like someone to actually say something prophetically risky from the pulpit during Annual Conference.

I have to confess a feeling of bored dread as I listened to Earl's message.  At the outset, it seemed to me it was going to be a drab, slow-paced sermon.

I was in for a surprise.

Being extremely frustrated with the climate of church politics relating to LGBT issues, when I heard Earl say, "But as [Jesus] moves amongst us, we see him look into a nearby tree at a person who wants to know him and be known by him; a person whom many find unacceptable," and I made a comment to those next to me about how the exception to this would be a queer person.  Because we, the Church of the Brethren, having created God in our own image, were not about to tell ourselves a parable that critiqued our treatment of queer people.

Maybe if I knew Earl Fike Jr. I would have known better.  But I did not, and so I sat like a deer in the headlights while, as if deliberately proving me wrong, he went on to say:

And Jesus says, "come down, I’m going to your house for dinner today." And the response of the crowd, our crowd, is painfully familiar. "Look, he has gone to be at the home of a homosexual sinner." 

I was floored.  This was the prophetic sermon I was looking for.  As I silently cheered (and occasionally vocally "amen"ed) he went on to deliver a scathing indictment of the Church of the Brethren's treatment of LGBT individuals.


For those who didn't hear or read the sermon, the solution Earl offered was forebearance.  Let's just give each other room, he said, to disagree about this, and meanwhile accept each other as brothers and sisters in Christ.


It's in no way surprising I was a fan of this sermon; Earl said pretty much exactly what I had been saying for the last few days.  "I don't need conservative churches to have gay pastors or perform same-sex covenant ceremonies," I said over beer at the Churchworks Brewery.  "I just need them to back off everyone else."*

Before I continue my argument, I want to address the two obvious criticisms of the sermon.  The first is that it identifies homosexuals as sinners, and the second is that it does not call for the denomination to be open and affirming.


I agree that any language that call homosexuality a sin is problematic.  It stems from harmful theology, it marginalizes queer people no matter how much we call for their acceptance, and it should, as a rule, be challenged.  I absolutely do not identify with such language.  But for the most part, it wasn't me Earl was preaching to when he said that.


The bottom line is, no sermon is going to convince fundamentalist** Christians that homosexuality is not a sin.  I'm not saying minds can't be changed, but I really don't see it happening from the pulpit; if Earl had taken this approach, he might have gotten cheers from those of like mind, but in his effort to change anything he would have been shouting at the wind.  His purpose was to move people to a position, and to accomplish that he had to try to speak to their theologies.

 As for the criticism of what it was that Earl was calling for, this one is difficult for me.  I do not want to accommodate beliefs that are harmful and oppressive for the sake of unity.  In Proverbs of Ashes, Rebecca Ann Parker describes the board meeting at which it was decided her church would become open and affirming.  One man said, "If we do this, some people will leave our church.  We will lose our relationship with them.  But if we do not, we will lose our relationship with Jesus Christ."

Yet the Church of the Brethren is not, and should not be, a top-down, disciplinarian church.  We have no doctrine of infallibility for Annual Conference. I hate--absolutely hate--that a slim majority decision from over twenty years ago is interpreted as instructive in such a way that a beautifully gifted friend of mine saw her license to ministry revoked for coming out as a lesbian.  I hate that a slim majority can cast my entire church in such a bad light, for though nearly half the delegates involved did not vote for the amendment, I must confess to outsiders that my church says same-sex relationships are unacceptable.


It is in light of these feelings that I say I cannot speak for others.  Annual Conference statements are not law (after all, there are plenty of congregations that won't accept a female pastor), and so they frankly need not be decisive.


What should our language on same-sex relationships be?  How about, "We are not of like mind, but we strive to love one another as the conversation continues."  What's wrong with that?  No statement will make gays and lesbians magically straight, nor will any statement make all congregations open and affirming.  We cannot force agreement; why must we pretend to have it?


I'll up the ante here by illustrating just how urgently I think we need to adopt this position: the Church of the Brethren cannot survive a forced and false show of unity on this issue.  If a 51 percent vote turns us overnight into an open and affirming denomination, we could well see a conservative split.  I'm fairly certain I read a threat of such in BRF literature at one point.  Yet if we maintain our position against same-sex relationships, we will die.  The progressives in our church may not have the cohesion to effect an organized split, but they will definitely leave, and our church will lose its relevance.  We will become yet another shattered has-been, for history always marches in a direction that grants rights to previously disenfranchised groups.


I believe the affirmation of same-sex relationships would be good and right, but as a reflection of where we stand as a church it would not be true.  Nor is our current position an accurate representation of what we believe.  What we need to do is just say, without fear, that we do not agree.  I'm with Earl on this one: forebearance is a step in the right direction, and it's the step we need.


But that step needn't mark the closing of the book.  We can (and will) continue our witness, not through the tyranny of the majority, but through honest and loving conversation.


*This is not actually what I said, but I think the point gets across just as well without swear words.

** Apologies if this is too loaded a word; I know both "conservatives" and "evangelicals" who are allies, so those words were out.