A Renewed Call to Nonviolence

This blog is published in the wake of the escalating conflict between Hamas and Israel over the weekend.

Context: For My Fellow Well-Meaning Outsiders

I am not an international political expert. I am not Palestinian nor am I Israeli. I am a pastor and a theologian concerned for the wellbeing and reconciliation of all Creation—an attitude all Christians are called to embrace (2 Corinthians 5:16-21). I am concerned with the ways Christians and my fellow White liberals discuss the current situation in Palestine and Israel. I say this not with cynicism but with deep care for the ways in which we create community together. If you’re like me, you have Jewish friends who fear for their lives as antisemitism escalates and as Hamas killed 900 Israelis (as of last evening, October 9th) in a surprise attack over the weekend. You also probably have friends or have partnered with organizations in the Gaza Strip and West Bank who also fear for their lives as Netanyahu’s right-leaning government continues to forcibly evict Palestinians, plans massive expansions of settlements in the West Bank (Palestinian territory), and has retaliated by killing over 500 Palestinians as of this evening. Some on social media are quick to defend Hamas’s acts of terror as justified by Netanyahu’s continued colonization and occupation of Palestine’s territory, and others are quick to unquestioningly support Netanyahu’s government with whatever means they deem “necessary.” I find it necessary to speak a pastoral word to my fellow well-meaning outsiders, that is, those of us who are neither Palestinian nor Israeli nor Jewish, but who recognize that injustices are occurring and are trying to thoughtfully respond to the prophetic call to be in solidarity with the oppressed in such a time as this.

I do not believe in the fable of a “just war.” There is war. There are persons and governments who take up arms against another for the sake of expansion, wealth, prestige, and power, and there are persons and governments who take up arms to defend themselves. There is violence and often violent resistance, but I do not believe there to be a just war nor a war that can be justified. In my understanding, violence is antithetical to the Gospel’s pronouncement of “abundant life” (John 10:10)—though many Christians have used the Gospel to justify violence. Jesus proclaimed “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called children of God (Matthew 5:9). There is something holy about peace—not a peace that ignores injustice (the prophet Jeremiah condemns such a false peace: Jeremiah 6:14; 8:11), but a persistent peace that takes root—even amidst the broken concrete of bombed cities—whenever injustices are named and corrected and relationships, like a torn tapestry, are mended with care. Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s words remain strikingly—and unfortunately—relevant for our situation today (and I cite his thought not as a “model minority” but as a philosopher and activist),

Hate is rooted in fear, and the only cure for fear-hate is love. Our deteriorating international situation is shot through with the lethal darts of fear. Russia fears America, and America fears Russia. Likewise China and India, and the Israelis and the Arabs. These fears include another nation’s aggression, scientific and technological supremacy, and economic power, and our own loss of status and power. Is not fear one of the major causes of war? We say that war is a consequence of hate, but close scrutiny reveals this sequence: first fear, then hate, then war, and finally deeper hatred.

From King’s Sermon “Antidotes for Fear,” in A Gift of Love: Sermons from Strength to Love and Other Preachings

A Pilgrimage of Nonviolence

So, with wars raging around the world, and with continued racist and antisemitic acts of domestic terrorism in the U.S., I believe that Christians have a responsibility to reexamine the life and work of Dr. King, to continue his pilgrimage to and of nonviolence. To do so is to embody the Gospel for our time. So let us begin by asking ourselves, What would it mean to continue Dr. King’s pilgrimage to and of nonviolence today? Why a pilgrimage? and while we’re at it, Why nonviolence? and What does nonviolence mean exactly—what does it entail?

Why a Pilgrimage?

     As United Methodists/Protestants, we don’t often talk about pilgrimages. A pilgrimage is a holy journey—it’s an intentional commitment to traverse all sorts of terrain—both physical and spiritual. A pilgrimage is a commitment to take an extended journey, which is spiritual in nature; it interrupts our daily lives, requiring us to follow a different, countercultural path. And by countercultural, I mean counter to the objectification, oppression and false divisions sown by Western capitalism (people and Creation are to be valued over profit, and persons are not to be distinguished by economic status). Unlike war, one doesn’t make money on a pilgrimage. It requires sacrifice, both financially and physically. But one makes this sacrifice willingly, placing their privileges on the altar of holiness, knowing that the pilgrim’s journey is a holy one. It is important for us to take in this context for the meaning of a pilgrimage, with all of its weight and difficulties in mind, because it’s with the acknowledgement of the arduousness of this journey in mind that the meaning and demands of Dr. King’s philosophy become more fully apparent.

Like Christian pilgrimages of the past, Dr. King’s pilgrimage to nonviolence was neither a directionless journey nor was it a straightforward path. Before reaching the pinnacle of this holy way, the love that is both the telos and the trail itself, Dr. King knew that all pilgrims must learn how to be a pilgrim. One does not start in New York, traverse the routes of Jesus in Palestine and Israel and return unchanged. The journey transforms the pilgrim. So too does the pilgrimage to nonviolence, becoming a daily pilgrimage of nonviolence. Dr. King laid out six specific principles, which a good pilgrim on this journey toward justice must abide by—principles that I believe ought to orient us as we discuss and engage in the tragedies around us.

King’s 6 Principles of Nonviolence

1) “nonviolent resistance is not a method for cowards; it does resist.”[1] This pilgrimage to nonviolence is not a pilgrimage toward nonresistance. Nonviolent resistance, as we shall see, is an active journey toward justice.

2) Nonviolent resistance “does not seek to defeat or humiliate the opponent, but to win [their] friendship and understanding.”[2] This journey toward justice must be a just journey itself because what it leaves in its wake, unlike violent resistance and war, is not bitterness but the creation of the Beloved Community.[3] Reconciliation and community are its byproducts, not profit from military spending, destruction, or despair.

3) Logically flowing from the second principle comes the third, which is that in the pilgrimage to nonviolence, “the attack is directed against forces of evil rather than against persons who happen to be doing evil.”[4] The love ethic of Jesus, practiced by Gandhi, and central for Dr. King’s pilgrimage will not allow the pilgrim to view persons as enemies—even those people who are participating in or perpetuating oppressive systems—because the consequence of this pilgrimage is reconciliation, the creation of the Beloved Community.

4) The pilgrimage to nonviolence “is a willingness to accept suffering without [violent] retaliation.”[5] Dr. King and Gandhi framed the narrative of their nonviolent resistance movements by identifying the dissonance between the values that wealthy and middle class White U.S. residents and British society claimed to hold dear and the reality that poor U.S. residents, Black Americans, and the Indian people faced (and continue to face). King embodied the issue of anti-Black racial aggression, placing himself on the front lines of marches where police brutally attacked the demonstrators. America valued freedom and Britain civility, yet when the world watched the beatings of non-violent protestors, they were faced with a reality that did not correlate to their values. Essentially, their privilege was checked. They were faced with a reality from which their privelege had previously protected them. Though white Americans and the British public remained at a distance from the systemic injustices of their societies, in Dr. King and Gandhi’s willingness to suffer without violent retaliation, their societies were forced to face a clear violation of their values. As Ronald Heifetz writes, Dr. King and Gandhi were “lightning rods.”[6] They took the counter punches as the system fought back to maintain equilibrium. Their pilgrimages of nonviolence were successful because of their strict adherence to this fourth principle.

5) Nonviolence “avoids not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit.”[7] Here, the influence of Dr. King’s time at Boston University (BU), where personalism was developed, clearly directs the pilgrimage.[8] To hate another person, even the oppressor, does internal, spiritual violence because it is depersonalizing.[9] Howard Thurman, who was the dean of Marsh Chapel at BU during King’s studies, described hate as one of the “hounds of hell,” arguing that the

“logic of the development of hatred is death to the spirit and disintegration of ethical and moral values.”[10] 

The pilgrim on the journey of nonviolence must embody the love ethic—not through a “sentimental” love of those who participate in oppressive systems—but through love as “understanding” and “redemptive good will”—through agape.[11] Agape love is love of neighbor; it is the “love of God operating in the human heart,” which emphasizes our need of each other.[12] And this love “is not a weak, passive love,” it is an active love, “seeking to preserve and create community.”[13]

6) Finally, the sixth principle that Dr. King articulates is that nonviolence “is based on the conviction that the universe is on the side of justice.”[14] This principle implies a faith on the pilgrim’s part in the possibilities that the future holds—and this faith in the future encourages the pilgrim of nonviolence to persevere through present suffering.[15] Nevertheless, while the moral arc of the universe may bend toward justice, Dr. King is clear that

“[h]uman progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of [persons] willing to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation.”[16]

The pilgrimage of nonviolence is an arduous one, one that requires tireless effort from the pilgrim on the journey toward justice. White moderates, to whom Dr. King addressed his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” (from which the previous quote was lifted), too often interpret this sixth principle as inevitability and, accordingly, caution oppressed people to wait or slow down.[17]  We are experiencing this temptation now in so many contexts: folks who want Palestinians to patiently wait for freedom while more territory is annexed by Netanyahu’s government; folks who want Israel to wait patiently as Hamas, funded by other governments, terrorizes its citizens and fails to provide a stable government for Palestinians. However, Dr. King’s sixth principle ought to reorient our pilgrimage as we engage with these injustices: history, and therefore God (as the God of history), is on the side of justice, so we all ought to be on the side of justice, doing all that we can to realize the reign of God here and now, spiritually and materially, personally and socially as we co-labor with God.

Conclusion: Why Nonviolence?

            Reflecting on how his pilgrimage to nonviolence became a pilgrimage of nonviolence, King writes that

“living through the actual experience of protest, nonviolence became more than a model to which I gave intellectual assent; it became a commitment to a way of life.”[18]

As he found himself amidst the Cold War and escalating threats of nuclear annihilation, the choice seemed clear that either humankind could choose nonviolence or face the reality of nonexistence.[19] For King, the pilgrimage of nonviolence was the only pilgrimage capable of saving humanity from itself because it refuses to allow the pilgrim to depersonalize the other; it is a process of radical relationship building and reconciliation, the result of which is the creation of the Beloved Community.

            Today, we must re-commit ourselves to this pilgrimage. I’ve briefly shared Dr. King’s pilgrimage to nonviolence, and hopefully his story and this time exploring it together, becomes part of your own intellectual pilgrimage of nonviolence so that together we can commit to the spiritual, material, and social pilgrimage of embodied nonviolence. Today the pilgrimage of nonviolence looks like the Ukrainian hotline that provides information to Russian families about their children in the army even while Ukrainian people die at the hands of Russian soldiers.[20] Today, the pilgrimage of nonviolence looks like the unarmed Ukrainian citizens who came together as a community and stood, unarmed, in front of Russian tanks,[21] and like the thirteen thousand Russian citizens who were been arrested in the weeks following Russia’s aggression for nonviolently protesting the war.[22] Nonviolence today looks like the Palestinians who join together through large-scale protests to the forced evacuations, who condemn Hamas’s militarization of their struggle, and who have used tax boycotts and other nonviolent strategies to resist occupation. Nonviolence today looks like Israelis and Jewish organizations, like the Center for Jewish Nonviolence, who stand in solidarity with Palestinians and work toward peaceful solutions and co-existence.

     At home in the U.S., the pilgrimage of nonviolence demands that our political parties not demonize and depersonalize one another so that understanding and good will can be fostered—this necessitates accountability as part of the reconciliation process. This journey requires massive protests against the anti-abortion bills in Texas and several other states,[23] against the anti-Trans bills in dozens of states, against the “Don’t Say Gay” law in Florida and similar bills in other states,[24]  and against the banning of books that tell the cold hard truth about U.S. history.[24] The pilgrimage of nonviolence, for all of these issues, requires greater solidarity from the church with people of African descent, with Indigenous persons and nations, with queer and trans persons, with persons from Latin America, with Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, with Jewish persons facing antisemitism and with Palestinians being evicted from their homes in Jerusalem, with persons with disabilities and with other marginalized communities. The pilgrimage of nonviolence is a call to deeper compassion, empathy, and shared humanity.

Notes

[1] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” in Stride Toward Freedom: The Montgomery Story (Boston: Beacon Press, 2010), p. 102.

[2] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 102.

[3] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 102. See also Martin Luther King, Jr. “A Christmas Sermon on Peace,” December 24, 1967, in which he asserted that “We must pursue peaceful ends through peaceful means. All of this is saying that, in the final analysis, means and ends must cohere because the end is preexistent in the means, and ultimately destructive means cannot bring about constructive ends.”

[4] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 102.

[5] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 103.

[6] Ronald A. Heifetz, Leadership Without Easy Answers (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994), p. 224.

[7] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 103.

[8] See Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 100.

[9] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 106.

[10] Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited (Boston: Beacon Press, 1976), p. 77.

[11] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 104.

[12] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 105.

[13] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 105.

[14] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 106.

[15] Ibid.

[16] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” p. 352.

[17] King writes, “We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jetlike speed toward gaining political independence, but we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward gaining a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. Perhaps it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, ‘Wait.’” Martin Luther King, Jr., “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” p. 349.

[18] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Pilgrimage to Nonviolence,” p. 101.

[19] In his final speech on April 3, 1968, at Mason Temple in Memphis, TN, Dr. King said “We have been forced to a point where we are going to have to grapple with the problems that men have been trying to grapple with through history, but the demands didn't force them to do it. Survival demands that we grapple with them. Men for years now have been talking about war and peace. But now no longer can they just talk about it. It is no longer a choice between violence and nonviolence in this world; it's nonviolence or nonexistence. That is where we are today.”

[20] Sebastian Shukla, Alex Marquardt and Christian Streib, “'He said he was going towards Kyiv.'

Russian families turn to Ukrainian hotline in desperate search for lost soldiers” on CNN.com, https://www.cnn.com/2022/03/07/europe/ukraine-hotline-russian-soldiers-intl-cmd/index.html.

[21] Alisha Rahaman Sarkar, “Russian tanks made to retreat after Ukrainian civilians form human shield to block road” on Independent.co.uk, https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/russian-tanks-ukraine-human-shield-b2024709.html.

[22] “More than 15,000 Russians have been arrested in anti-war protests” on Economist.com, https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/2022/03/22/more-than-15000-russians-have-been-arrested-in-anti-war-protests.

[23] The Guttmacher Institute provides an updated list of abortion bans and other restrictive measures: https://www.guttmacher.org/article/2022/03/2022-state-legislative-sessions-abortion-bans-and-restrictions-medication-abortion.

[24] Freedom For All Americans provides a legislation tracker on a variety of legislation, including anti-trans bills and anti-LGBTQ bills: https://freedomforallamericans.org/legislative-tracker/anti-transgender-legislation/.

[25] Elizabeth A. Harris and Alexandra Alter, “Book Ban Efforts Spread Across the U.S. Challenges to books about sexual and racial identity are nothing new in American schools, but the tactics and politicization are,” in The New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2022/01/30/books/book-ban-us-schools.html.

Electing Bishops: Jurisdictional Conferences, Another Step Toward The UMC of Tomorrow, Today

The role of bishops (known as the office of the “episcopacy” in church lingo) has been one of the most divisive topics throughout our history as a movement. This week, I flew back to the U.S. from my Ph.D. program in Vienna, Austria, to join my fellow delegates as we gather at Jurisdictional Conferences across the U.S. to discern and elect new episcopal leaders—and the role of bishops is, yet again, a hot topic for (United) Methodism. Let me say this clearly: I believe the elections taking place this week across The UMC in the U.S. are a crucial next step in building and embodying The UMC of tomorrow (of justice and equity) today—now, in the present. One of the first steps, as I mentioned in a previous blog post, was the formation of the so-called “Global” Methodist Church, which launched in May and gave anti-LGBTQ+ United Methodists a place to go (should they want to leave The UMC). Now that those who are vehemently opposed to the full affirmation and inclusion of LGBTQ+ persons have a denomination of their own, it’s time for United Methodism to move confidently toward the land of inclusion for all. But, before we get into what’s at stake with the episcopacy this week, let’s take a look back at the first Methodist bishop and work our way to the challenges—and opportunities—that face our future episcopal leaders.

In the Beginning…

When the Revolutionary War broke out in the North American colonies, it severed ties with Britain, which meant severing ties with the Church of England as well. These severed relations meant that a sacramental vacuum emerged—the clergy were largely gone, or in hiding! What was the emerging Methodist movement to do if its few clergy (ordained by the Church of England) were sent away? It’s exactly this problem that motivated Wesley to step even further beyond the bounds of the Church of England: In 1784, Wesley ordained three of his prominent lay preachers, including Thomas Coke as General Superintendent, and sent them to the newly formed nation.[1] Now, in the Church of England, as in The United Methodist Church today, the act of ordination is reserved for the office of the episcopacy alone. In ordaining these three men, Wesley broke the rules of his Church and effectively usurped the power of the episcopacy. To make matters even more complex, the difference between a clergyman and a bishop was a matter of separate orders of ordination: deacons were ordained to the order of deacons, priests to their own order, and bishops to a third order in the Church of England.[2] Wesley did something that he wasn’t ordained to do!

Then, over half a century later at the 1844 General Conference, the episcopacy was at the center of the debate over slavery. “Their most serious conflict concerned one of the church’s five bishops, James O. Andrew, who had acquired [enslaved persons] through marriage. After acrimonious debate, the General Conference voted to suspend Bishop Andrew from the exercise of his office so long as he could not, or would not, free his slaves. A few days later, dissidents drafted a Plan of Separation, which permitted the annual conferences in slaveholding states to separate from The Methodist Episcopal Church in order to organize their own ecclesiastical structure. The Plan of Separation was adopted and the groundwork laid for the creation of The Methodist Episcopal Church, South.”[3]

In 2016, Rev. Karen Oliveto was elected and consecrated as the first openly LGBTQ+ bishop in The United Methodist Church.[4] Many of us cheered as the denomination moved slowly toward broader inclusion through her election, but others drafted plans of separation, continuing the pattern of leaving the denomination when it sought to meet the demands of its time and to side with justice and mercy. But what does all this mean for us today in 2022?

Why the United Methodist Episcopacy Matters

Here’s the crux: To quote Spiderman’s wise Uncle Ben, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Wesley argued that bishops and priests were part of the same order, though they had different functions (hence the term “functional episcopacy”).[5] To this day, United Methodist bishops remain in the order of elders, though they are consecrated to serve a specific administrative function.[6] This particular function entails that those clergy persons who are consecrated as bishops are given particular administrative power, which comes with greater administrative responsibility. This administrative power, however, does not endow them with superior spiritual power or set them above others in a superior class of the ordained. Bishops are not princes or princesses; they are clergy people, and like all clergy they are called to serve. In the case of the United Methodist episcopacy, they are called to serve the Church in the following ways:

The role and calling forth of the bishop is to exercise oversight and support of the Church in its mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. The basis of such discipleship of leadership (episkopé) lies in discipline and a disciplined life. The bishop leads therefore through the following disciplines:

a) A vital and renewing spirit. The role of the bishop is to faithfully practice, model and lead the spiritual disciplines of our faith and to call and inspire the clergy and laity within the Church to practice the Christian disciplines in their individual lives through the tradition of personal holiness. The bishop is to lead in public worship, in the celebration of the sacraments, and in the commendation of our faith.

b) An enquiring mind and a commitment to the teaching office. The role of the bishop is to continue to learn and to teach how to make disciples and lead faithful and fruitful congregations using scripture, spiritual disciplines, our Wesleyan heritage, and the history and doctrines of the Church.

c) A vision for the Church. The role of bishop is to lead the whole Church in claiming its mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world. The bishop leads by discerning, inspiring, strategizing, equipping, implementing, and evaluating the fulfillment of the mission of the church. Working in partnership with the Council of Bishops, the cabinet and lay and clergy leadership of the annual conference, and the professing members of the Church, the bishop urges the whole church to move toward the vision of sharing Christ with the world in fulfillment of our mission, faithful discipleship, and “an even better way” of being Christ’s people in the world.

d) A prophetic commitment for the transformation of the Church and the world. The role of the bishop is to be a prophetic voice for justice in a suffering and conflicted world through the tradition of social holiness. The bishop encourages and models the mission of witness and service in the world through proclamation of the gospel and alleviation of human suffering.

e) A passion for the unity of the church. The role of the bishop is to be the shepherd of the whole flock and thereby pro- vide leadership toward the goal of understanding, reconciliation, and unity within the Church—The United Methodist Church and the church universal.

f) The ministry of administration. The role of the bishop is to uphold the discipline and order of the Church by consecrating, ordaining, commissioning, supervising, and appointing persons in ministry to the Church and the world. As the presiding officer of the annual conference, the resident bishop provides order and leads in new opportunities for ministry within the annual conference. The bishop shares with other bishops the oversight of the whole church through the Council of Bishops and is held accountable through the Council of Bishops in collaboration with conference and jurisdictional committees on episcopacy. [7]

A Prophetic Voice

Every movement depends upon both the mass of unnamed persons doing the hard work of organizing, relationship-building, and logistical planning as well as the spokespersons who, though equal with the rest of the laborers in the movement, are identified by their peers from within for the particular purpose of giving “the movement” a voice, of expressing the shared values of the collective through a clear vision. Perhaps one of the reasons the episcopacy has remained a hot topic throughout Methodist history is because we the people, in partnership with the Spirit, have identified them as persons whom we trust to be a voice in the movement of Methodism when the General Conference is not in session. While we do not dote on bishops as church royalty, we do entrust and cede to them the power of speaking a vision of the church and world that we’ve dreamed of together. We ask them to lead the Church in our pursuits of justice, which we’ve discerned together as people of God. But what are the people of The United Methodist Church asking our bishops to say? What vision have we cast together and asked them to lead us toward?

To Our Bishops: No More Trials

In our polity, bishops oversee church trials. This season, as we gather to elect new bishops, a record number of LGBTQ+ affirming delegates, making up a majority of votes in every jurisdiction of the U.S., will replenish the global supply of bishops and will therefore shift the makeup of the Council of Bishops to reflect the will of the people of The United Methodist Church, who are seeking to follow God’s spirit of justice and inclusion. What this means is that with our elections and the retirement of anti-LGBTQ+ bishops, a majority of bishops in the U.S. and in the world-wide Council of Bishops will be in favor of LGBTQ+ inclusion in the Church. This fact is not an accident and it must not be taken for granted; it reflects the power we cede to them—the power to speak the vision of inclusion that we’ve discerned together and to oversee its implementation in the life of the denomination. As I quoted from Book of Discipline above, “The bishop leads by discerning, inspiring, strategizing, equipping, implementing, and evaluating the fulfillment of the mission of the church,” and they work “in partnership” with the whole Church in order to “foster an ‘even better way’ of being Christ’s people in the world.”

To my fellow delegates, know that we are identifying from among our peers persons whom we trust to speak from within the movement. And to the episcopal candidates, know that you are therefore responsible to the movement—and that the movement of United Methodism, as witnessed in the record number of LGBTQ+ affirming delegates, is calling on you to lead the Church by refusing to place LGBTQ+ clergy on trial or to try clergy who perform same-sex weddings. You are being entrusted with great power for such a time as this, and the responsibilities are that much greater. May we discern our leaders faithfully and prophetically so that the next step in becoming a more just UMC begins January 1, 2023 with the beginning of a revived, LGBTQ+ affirming College of Bishops in every U.S. Jurisdiction of The UMC and in the Council of Bishops globally. May we be partners in this spiritual work of transforming The United Methodist Church through a vision of God’s liberating and affirming love. “For God did not give us a spirit of fear but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7). May it be so.

[1] Chris Evans, “The Birth of American Methodism,” Methodist Doctrine and History, 5 Oct. 2021, Boston University, Lecture.

[2] Ibid.

[3] The Book of Discipline of the United Methodist Church 2016 (Nashville: United Methodist Publishing House, 2016), p. 16.

[4] “Western Jurisdiction elects openly gay United Methodist bishop,” July 15, 2016, https://www.umnews.org/en/news/western-jurisdiction-elects-openly-gay-united-methodist-bishop.

[5] Richard P. Heitzenrater, Wesley and the People Called Methodists, second ed (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2013), p. 215.

[6] The Book of Discipline of the United Methodist Church 2016 (Nashville: United Methodist Publishing House, 2016), “Chapter Three: The Superintendency.”

[7] Ibid., ¶403.

The UMC of Tomorrow Begins Today

Image from General Conference 2012, taken from https://noihasseen.wordpress.com/2016/05/04/we-believe/.

Context: Today, May 1, 2022, a fringe group of anti-LGBTQ+ former United Methodist clergy and lay people officially launched a new denomination, the Global Methodist Church (GMC). United Methodist polity was confusing even before the pandemic so if you’re wondering “how did they do that?”, UMNews has a helpful article about the GMC’s launch and what it means for everyday United Methodists.

The short story

The UMC has not officially split. The General Conference is the only body that has the authority to consider and act on legislation regarding a split. Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, the General Conference has been unable to meet and has been postponed to 2024. However, a small group of people within the denomination have decided that they will not wait for the General Conference to meet, and will officially launch their own denomination—today. Rev. Jeremy Smith has persistently published and investigated the GMC from its beginnings as the Wesleyan Covenant Association (WCA), and has published a detailed overview of his reporting since 2016: “We Called It: Looking back at the Rise of the Global Methodist Church.” Jeremy has summed up the WCA’s work since the beginning as “a renewal group dedicated to preserving global LGBTQ Exclusion in The United Methodist Church and, failing that, siphoning off the capital, property, and people from The UMC to a new Wesleyan denomination.”

The Practical Questions

Will many people leave The UMC today? No. At this point, it is unknown how many churches will join the GMC, but without the General Conference passing a proposal to split, exiting The UMC today is costly—not out of spite, but because we believe, as a denomination, that United Methodist properties are held in trust together as Annual Conferences. Like the early church depicted in the book of Acts, we aim to share resources together and hold properties “in common” (Acts 2:43-47, NRSV). For more information on what the process to leave The UMC requires, click here.

Will clergy who join the GMC still be United Methodists? No. UMNews has reported that, according to Bishop Cynthia Harvey, the outgoing president of the Council of Bishops, and a 1993 decision by the Judicial Council (our highest court) that UM clergy cannot be members of other denominations.

Can Annual Conferences really vote to leave The UMC? No—or at least not yet. The Judicial Council is currently reviewing this question.

(Update May 10, 2022: In Decision 1444, the Judicial Council stated that “While an annual conference has the reserved right to vote on disaffiliation, the General Conference must first enact enabling legislation to establish the right to withdraw but has not done so for conferences in the United States. Decision 1366 cannot be construed as creating a self-executing right for an annual conference to separate because the Judicial Council has no legislative authority. There is no basis in Church law for any annual conference to adopt stopgap policies, pass resolutions, take a vote, or act unilaterally for the purpose of removing itself from The United Methodist Church.”)

Will The UMC be an LGBTQ+-affirming denomination now? Unfortunately, no. Rev. Jeremy Smith has another insightful article on this topic, “Shall Progressives Inherit the United Methodist Church? No. Not yet.” Essentially, The UMC will need to pass a regionalization plan at the next General Conference, a plan like the Christmas Covenant, which was developed by United Methodists from Africa, Europe, and the Philippines. This plan would offer “United Methodists in all regions of the UMC, the space to engage in context-specific conversations for each region that otherwise would have been brought to the General Conference.” So, rather than debating topics like sexuality on a global scale that neglects cultural differences, the U.S. would be able to make decisions for the U.S., and the Philippines for the Philippines, and so on. No longer would certain regions of the Church be telling other regions who they can and can’t ordain.

My Takeaway and Hope

I titled this blog “The UMC of Tomorrow Begins Today” not because The UMC is now magically affirming of LGBTQ+ people, nor because some official change has taken place within The UMC. Neither of these are true. I chose this title because our anti-LGBTQ+ (former/soon-to-be-former United Methodist) siblings have placed their cards on the table and have, to some extent, walked away. People who have promoted or condoned harmful anti-LGBTQ+ policies within The UMC now have a place to go. They will leave gradually, but by forming their own denomination, they have informed us all they would like to leave. Let’s shake the dust from our sandals and leave each other in peace, shall we?

What their eventual departure means is that we must double our efforts now to define what it really means to be a United Methodist. As I said in an earlier blog,

“If we are to claim the heritage of Wesley, to take grace, and therefore salvation, seriously, then United Methodists are called to embrace and affirm LGBTQ+ people and our presence in the Church. If the telos (inner aim) of our lives as Methodist Christians is to grow in the love of God and neighbor, for love to fill our hearts and the whole capacity of our souls, then the systematic exclusion of LGBTQ+ Methodist Christians is antithetical to the very foundation upon which our tradition has been formed. By embracing the grace upon which Methodism was built, we can find our way forward.”

Now is the time be in dialogue with one another in our churches, in our Annual Conferences, and across the global United Methodist Connection to dream and begin to practice what our life together as The United Methodist Church will look like after the inevitable separation in 2024. As part of this dialogical process, I encourage your churches to watch this overview by the Council of Bishops’ Anti-Racism task force on the history of denominational schisms within Methodist history. The task force did a fantastic job of weaving together different perspectives on the causes and lessons learned from the splits throughout our history as a movement. I also recommend churches to engage in conversations about the future of the Church through the plethora of resources provided as part of the #BeUMC Campaign (including sermon series, small group discussions, media posts and more).

I invite you, as I’ll be inviting each church I visit this summer, to fill in the blank: “I want to be part of a church that _____.” For me, I want to be part of a church that:

• Makes justice-seeking disciples who transform the church and the world.

• Is guided by an ethos of inclusion, affirmation, and liberation.

• Is an equitable and global connection.

• Continues our Wesleyan heritage into and beyond the 21st century.

May we make this day the beginning of The UMC of tomorrow—the day we each commit to learning about Wesleyan/Methodist history and theology so that they might guide our future. May today be the day we commit to abiding by Wesley’s three “General Rules” (do no harm; do good; stay in love with God). May today be the day we practice being part of a global connection—being in conversation with United Methodists in different parts of the country and world, building relationships rooted in mutual respect and agape love. May today be the beginning of The UMC of tomorrow. And may we, with God’s help, make it so!

Jack-O-Lantern Grace: How Wesley’s Means of Grace Can Lead The UMC Toward LGBTQ+ Affirmation

Jack-o-lantern from GettyImages.

Grace for Methodists is like decorating with pumpkins for Halloween: almost everyone could identify that the one is an essential part of the other, but few would be able to thoroughly explain why. Unlike jack-o’-lanterns, however, grace is not only a meaningful decorative addition; grace is the core of our Wesleyan faith—an essential element that enabled the early Wesleyan/Methodist movement to unite both personal piety and acts of mercy, evangelical preaching with social responsibility and justice. In this brief blog (adapted from a UM History & Doctrine Paper of mine), I’ll explore the essential role that grace held within John Wesley’s own faith journey, and how he articulated his evolving understanding of it through various sermons. As this blog hopes to show, without grace salvation is impossible—and not just receptive grace, but a grace that calls us to participate in it as we continue in the pursuit of holiness within ourselves and within all social institutions. I’ll conclude with a brief remark on the role that grace ought to play for us United Methodists today as we find ourselves on the precipice of schism. Hopefully our jack-o’-lanterns of grace will continue to illuminate the special historical tradition called Methodism as grace lights the way for our future.

Wesley’s Early Faith: A Need for Grace

            What is simultaneously remarkable -- and also just typical human behavior-- is the fact that Wesley doubted himself and changed his mind, all the while articulating confident theological documents for an emerging movement within the Church of England (condescendingly referred to as “Methodism”). Throughout his book Wesley and the People Called Methodists, Richard Heitzenrater notes that Wesley constantly doubted the assurance of his faith. One such occasion was shortly after Wesley’s return to England from the American colonies in 1738 when he began communication with a Moravian by the name of Peter Böhler. At this point, Wesley’s certainty was shaken after a near-death experience during his travels across the Atlantic. “Peter Böhler had convinced him that the deficiency was not one of degree—Wesley’s problem was not weakness of faith but plain unbelief” (Heitzenrater, 84). To make matters worse, when John’s brother, Charles Wesley, was “sick in bed” and joined the small society that Böhler had set up in London, Charles experienced the assurance of faith that John lacked (and which Böhler demanded). This sudden assurance and “peace with God” that Charles experienced, who was previously opposed to Wesley preaching a doctrine of sola fide (faith alone), apparently “put John into a state of ‘continual sorrow’ and heaviness of heart” (Heitzenrater, 87). But, three days after Charles’ testimony, John experienced this assurance of salvation for himself, and thus the “strangely warmed heart” phrase that has been forever embroidered onto the history of Methodism was born.

            This experience of assurance (called the “Aldersgate experience”), however, did not extinguish John Wesley’s doubts. As an Oxford academic, John appreciated the sciences, and his personal experience of doubt after the Aldersgate experience seems to have served as evidence in the ongoing experiment of his life that it was not his faith that was deficient (as Böhler claimed), but rather the theology of the Moravians. It’s at this point that grace becomes essential both in Wesley’s personal faith and for the emerging Methodist movement. Salvation became not only a one-time event (not the instantaneous conversion of the Moravians), but a way of life—the total restoration of the imagine of God in us (Outler and Heitzenrater, 13). It’s in this tension with the Moravians’ theology and his own lived experience that “Wesley [began] to work out the relationship between justification (what God does for us, forgiveness of sin) and sanctification (what God does in us, holiness of life)” (Heitzenrater, 115). As his understanding evolved, Wesley saw that assurance did not guarantee perfection or holiness; therefore, assurance alone is insufficient evidence that one is truly a Christian. It is only by the grace of God, which is continually at work within us (sanctifying grace), that we mature and grow in holiness and are perfected in love. And this is telos of Christian life: to daily “advance in the knowledge and love of God [our] Savior” (“Christian Perfection,” 73).

The Means of Grace

Within this evolving understanding, one begins to see the relationship between grace and salvation more clearly in Wesley’s thought, and the demand for social engagement becomes more evident through this relationship as well. Grace was not only a matter of personal justification (the offer of forgiveness of sins), grace was also, and necessarily, sanctifying, the continual process of regeneration and growth in holiness. So also, salvation can be said to be a “a present thing” and “the entire work of God, from the first dawning of grace in the soul till it is consummated in glory” (“The Scripture Way of Salvation,” I.1). But how; by what means does one become more holy, sanctified, walk the way of salvation? Before addressing this question, it’s important to note the relationship between faith and works: what one does does not guarantee salvation; rather, the inner “religion of the heart” motivates one to do good, to perform works of piety and mercy, which are themselves the fruits of salvation already present in the heart of the person (“The Means of Grace,” I.4). Now, back to the question of the means of grace, the vessels through which the perfect image of God is regenerated within us. Fortunately, Wesley provided a definition: “By ‘means of grace’ I understand outward signs, words, or actions ordained of God, and appointed for this end—to be the ordinary channels whereby he [sic.] might convey to men [sic.] preventing, justifying, or sanctifying grace” (“The Means of Grace,” II.1).

In a perfectly circular fashion, the means of grace, also called sacraments (lowercase “s”), are “an outward sign of inward grace, and a means whereby we receive the same” (“The Means of Grace,” II.1). One partakes of Holy Communion, for example, not merely for the sake of the ritual, but with the understanding that through Communion, as with all means of grace, we grow in our knowledge and love of God. Through that outward sign of grace, the inward grace, which motivates us to pursue the outward sings, is kindled; the circle of grace continues round. Throughout “The Means of Grace” sermon, Wesley provides a litany of these means: prayer, reading Scripture, and Communion. These means are properly called “works of piety,” and they make up one half of the Wesleyan understanding of the Christian life. In his sermon “On Visiting the Sick,” Wesley cites Matthew 25:36 (“I was sick and you visited me”) to describe how “works of mercy” are the other essential side of the life of faith and the complementary means of grace.

As with Wesley’s argument in his sermon on “The Duty of Constant Communion,” he argues in “On Visiting the Sick” that Christ himself commands us to visit the sick (and constantly partake in Communion)—they are both ordinances of God. Both of these means of grace have been instituted by Christ. Wesley challenges his listeners by stating that “the continuance in works of mercy is necessary to salvation” (“On Visiting the Sick,” I.1), and he goes so far as to claim that those who neglect works of mercy, “lose, by a continual neglect, the grace which they had received” (I.2). But this claim is not as radical as it may first appear for it is grounded in the second half of Matthew 25, where Jesus says that God will turn to those who did not feed the hungry or visit the sick and say, “‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ And these will go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into eternal life” (vv. 45-46). The stakes, for Wesley, seem to be so high that one’s very soul hangs in the balance (at the very least, it’s a powerful rhetoric). But again, it’s important to remember that throughout this argument, salvation does not depend on works of piety or mercy, rather works are the logical fruits of the sanctifying process. 

Conclusion

In summary, salvation for Wesley is both a present thing and the total fulfillment of God’s grace; it is both the assurance of salvation and the process of regeneration, aka “sanctification.” Grace enables salvation. Or, in Wesley’s words, “grace is the source, faith the condition, of salvation” (“Salvation by Faith,” 0.3). Through the justifying grace of God, humanity’s sins are forgiven, and we continue on toward the regeneration of our souls through the sanctifying grace of God. The process of sanctification enables us to move toward being perfected in love. To be perfect for Wesley means “perfect love;” “It is love excluding sin; love filling the heart, taking up the whole capacity of the soul” (“The Scripture Way of Salvation,” I.9). One can see how Wesley’s understanding of Christian perfection, works of mercy as a means of grace, and salvation necessarily placed Methodists on the forefront of social movements in the past. To be in proximity with the disposed and marginalized is not only an ordinance of God, it is a means of grace, an essential manifestation of, and participation in, the salvific story of God.

Today, the fruits of The United Methodist Church have been soured by continuous and contentious debate in which LGBTQ+ persons are structurally marginalized. If we are to claim the heritage of Wesley, to take grace, and therefore salvation, seriously, then United Methodists are called to embrace and affirm LGBTQ+ people and our presence in the Church. If the telos (inner aim) of our lives as Methodist Christians is to grow in the love of God and neighbor, for love to fill our hearts and the whole capacity of our souls, then the systematic exclusion of LGBTQ+ Methodist Christians is antithetical to the very foundation upon which our tradition has been formed. By embracing the grace upon which Methodism was built, we can find our way forward.

Works Cited

Heitzenrater, Richard P. Wesley and the People Called Methodists. Second ed. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2013.

Wesley, John, Outler, Albert C., and Heitzenrater, Richard P. John Wesley's Sermons: An Anthology. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1991.

Leaving the Wilderness: A Farewell Address to the People of Upper NY

When the entire nation had finished crossing over the Jordan, the Lord said to Joshua: “Select twelve members from the people, one from each tribe, and command them, ‘Take twelve stones from here out of the middle of the Jordan, from the place where the priests’ feet stood, carry them over with you, and lay them down in the place where you camp tonight.’” Then Joshua summoned the twelve from the Israelites, whom he had appointed, one from each tribe. Joshua said to them, “Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan, and each of you take up a stone on his shoulder, one for each of the tribes of the Israelites, so that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’ then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off in front of the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the Israelites a memorial forever.” (Joshua 4:1-7)

Since I was six years old, the United Methodists of the Upper New York Conference have been a second family to me. It was there, in the small town that my family moved to, nestled right in the heart of the beautiful Finger Lakes region of central New York, that I would attend my first United Methodist church, participate in Sunday School and VBS, take confirmation classes and officially join The UMC. I’d attend youth group and eventually lead youth group—and even learn to play guitar (not that well) so that we could have live music.

It was there, in Upper New York, that I’d attend my first summer camp—a United Methodist summer camp, of course—and learn to experience and explore God through nature and genuine Christian community. It was there, in Upper New York, that I grew in my faith was given opportunities through youth ministries programs to lead and find confidence in my voice, in my calling, and in my commitment to the love of God. I was nourished by the friendships I made through the Conference Council on Youth Ministries (CCYM), and some of the first seeds of my passion for leadership were nurtured and tended to by Rev. Ted Anderson, Tony Hipes, Sharon Rankins-Burd and others on the CCYM. These seeds began to sprout as my gifts were recognized and further nurtured by wise older lay people and clergy, and I had the joy of leading the CCYM as their co-chair in my senior year of high school, guiding the team of about sixty young people from across the state as we planned transformative events for the young people of Upper New York. And the Church continued to provide opportunities for me to grow.

It was there, in Upper New York, that I was offered the chance to be in community with and learn from our Methodist siblings in India through the Northeast Jurisdiction of The UMC’s “Mission of Peace.” I quickly realized the deep meaning and relational responsibility that Wesley’s words still have for us today when he said, “The world is my parish.” Quickly, The UMC in Upper New York taught me the value of compassion and empathy for our neighbors—even those who live on the other side of the globe. Quickly I learned that the Church was so much more that one church or one annual conference—or one country for that matter. The Church was becoming real people, people around the globe committed to the Wesleyan rules: to do no harm; to do good; and to stay in love with God (or “to attend to the ordinances of God” if we’re sticking with Wesley’s original wording).

It was there, in Upper New York, that I was first given the opportunity to preach at my home church by Rev. Jeff Childs, who would become one of the most humble and influential people along my journey. His constant support of my calling to ministry, his offering and encouragement to let youth lead worship, and his bold leadership in calling our small town community to affirm LGBTQ+ people began to clear a path for me that I didn’t know I needed. At the same time, Mike Huber, then director of Camping Ministries for Upper NY, began to mentor me and invited me to work at camp Casowasco, the same UM camp I attended as I kid. I joined the staff as the only 17 year-old counselor, still finding my way in the world, and again, the Church, through the people, nurtured and encouraged me in my calling to ministry and leadership. After several summers on staff, I would become the Spiritual Life coordinator, and enjoyed coordinating worship, Bible study trainings with the staff, and companioning the campers and staff along their own spiritual journeys.

It was there, in Upper New York, that I first began to travel to local churches and preach. Rev. Eleanor Collinsworth, then in the next town down the lake (Bath, NY), was always one of the first to offer me her pulpit. Revs. Alicia Wood, Stephen Cady, Sara Baron, Marti Swords-Horrell, Michelle Bogue-Trost, Beckie Sweet, Joellyn Tuttle, Jane Sautter, Richelle Goff and so many others in Upper New York, including fellow young adults, namely Ian Urriola, Elyse Muder, Marthalyn Sweet, and others would continue to companion and support me as I emerged from college ready to travel the lengths of Upper New York and as I became more involved in conference leadership and organizing.

It was there, in Upper New York, that the people nourished me and gave me more opportunities to co-lead the Young Adults Ministries Team and preach at our Annual Conference worship for several years. It was there, in Upper New York, that I was elected as an alternate delegate to General Conference (GC) 2016, and then traveled with the rest of the delegation to the special session in 2019. It was an Upper New York lay person who gave up his seat on the voting floor so that I could be part of the conversation, and eventually make that speech. It was there, in Upper New York, just a couple years ago that I was elected to serve as a full voting delegate to GC 2020 (which is still postponed). And because the people of Upper New York have given me so much, it has been my deepest desire to stay—to remain with the church family that nourished me, and to give back to the people who have given me so much.

Crossing the River

But, my time in the wilderness of Upper New York has come to an end. I’ve reached the boundary line of this liminal space with the support and guidance of so many. And now, it’s time for me to cross the river. I knew Upper New York would be a difficult place to seek ordination: in a conversation during GC 2019, the bishop of UNY insisted that he would “support me but not ordain me” if/when the moment arrived; the District Superintendents (DSs) have slowly been replaced with non-affirming clergy; women in conference leadership roles have been systematically disempowered; LGBTQ+ affirming clergy have been removed from the Board of Ordained Ministry; the bishop and the DS who was newly assigned to my district both signed on to leave The UMC for a non-affirming sect when the Church splits; petitions that passed with overwhelming majorities in our annual conference to condemn the Traditional Plan (which further excludes LGBTQ+ people) and affirm LGBTQ+ folks were ruled “out of order” by the bishop himself. The voice of the people has been continually stifled—but we’ve persisted.

Last month, the District Committee on Ordained Ministry (DCOM) decided not to recommend me for Commissioning interviews with the Board of Ordained Ministry (the probationary time before ordination). I respect many of the members deeply, and unfortunately we fundamentally disagree on our understanding of what an elder is. After days of research and listening to other clergy, lay people, and bishops across the Connection, I appealed the committee’s decision and asked for a reconsideration. Yesterday, on October 14th, they decided to stand by their original decision. I will not be allowed to seek Commissioning this year, though I could, and was encouraged to, jump through several logistical hoops (including another $300 psychological assessment without financial support) and return next year to try again.

I believe that the good majority of the members of my DCOM over these last six years have faithfully done their part to help me answer God’s call. To their credit, they certified the first openly LGBTQ+ candidate for ministry in Upper New York. Unfortunately, it seems that political maneuvers above their “pay-grade” intentionally made this process more difficult. It’s unfortunate that my time in the ordination process in Upper New York has been a six-year journey of mistrust, miscommunication and pain. After GC 2016 I came out at annual conference. That same year, the Board of Ordained Ministry dictated for the first time that every DCOM specifically ask each candidate if they would uphold ¶ 304 of the Book of Discipline, which includes the stipulation that “self-avowed practicing homosexuals” cannot be ordained. Fear and mistrust were being sown. Each year as I gathered with the committee, despite how well-meaning many of the members have been, a process that should have been holy was shrouded by the fear and mistrust that a select few in Upper New York conference leadership positions have sown. And if all of this is a mere misunderstanding of events, if I am wrong in seeing patterns of oppression where they may not be, then I grieve the fact that this hostile situation has drawn me to these conclusions and diminished the sacred discernment process for me. I grieve the fact that this situation must also be a great loss for many of the DCOM members as they earnestly tried to do their best within a system that would not support us, and which created a chasm between us. I thank Rev. Val White for her leadership as chair these last few years, and for her unceasing pastoral support and allyship even as she fulfilled the uncomfortable duty of being the messenger of bad news.

I will not, however, artificially alter my calling to the Order of Elders to fit into a box that has no space for me. It is clear now that I’ve arrived at the edge of the possibilities open to me in Upper New York, and that my path to ordination must lead beyond the conference. And so, it is with deep grief held in holy-tension with a great hope that I take these next steps beyond the wilderness, moving into the unknown promises ahead. I prepare to leave Upper New York, my home—our home—taking with me the lessons and courage and boldness of a people who have long been stifled, but who have continued—and will continue—to persist. I hold the memories and the times we’ve shared together dearly and I place just a few of them here as my own monument of remembrance. Like the stones from the Jordan, I will always look back and remember the journey that has brought me to where I am, and the people who made this journey possible even in a difficult wilderness. After my service as a General Conference delegate comes to a conclusion (hopefully with the General Conference in August), I will cross the river and begin the process of transferring my membership and candidacy to another conference of The United Methodist Church, one that is able to continue to nourish the seeds that the people of Upper New York have tended to for so long. I prepare to leave with confidence because I know that Upper New York can, and will soon, become the Church that we have so long longed for it to be.

To the people of Upper New York, thank you. Thank you for your continued efforts in the struggle for justice—for staying when possible on Committees on Ordained Ministry, on the Board, and in other leadership positions. Never give up. Keep moving forward together. Continue to reclaim what it means to be the Church in Upper New York. May the God of mercy continue to comfort us like the cool waters of the Finger Lakes, and light our path forward like the camp fires at our once-vibrant camps. We shall overcome.

Your grateful friend from the Finger Lakes,

J.J. Warren

Let Justice Roll: A Litany

Today we celebrate the shimmer of justice on the troubled sea of the U.S. The murderer of George Perry Floyd Jr. has been convicted. We celebrate that a jury of peers recognized the disturbing injustice done by former officer Derek Chauvin. We celebrate that in this instance the justice system of this country was able to live up to its namesake. And we celebrate, among other things, the light that this trial will shine on the depths of police brutality and racism, which must be dismantled.

Today, we also mourn. We mourn the fact that so many Black, Indigenous, People of Color (BIPOC), Asian American, Pacific Islander (AAPI), Queer, Latinx, Trans, Disabled people have not had justice.

We mourn the murder of 13 year old Adam Toledo just a few days ago.

We mourn the murders of many in the Sikh community at the shooting in Indianapolis last Friday: Matthew R. Alexander (32), Samaria Blackwell (19), Amarjeet Johal (66), Jaswinder Kaur (50), Jaswinder Singh (70), Amarjit Sekhon (49), Karli Smith (19), and John Weisert (74).

We mourn the murders of six Asian American/Pacific Islander women in Georgia and other victims, Hyun Jung Grant (51), Suncha Kim (69), Soon Chung Park (74), Yong Ae Yue (63), Xiaojie Tan (49), Daoyou Feng (44), Delaina Ashley Yaun (33), and Paul Andre Michels (54), at the beginning of this month.

We mourn so many who have been murdered by guns and bullets that were discharged by racist thoughts and actions, which have been nurtured by the systems of this country. We mourn an economy and politics that has invested more in policing and weapons of war than it has in community development, education, health care, and mental health resources.

We mourn that our witness as the church has fallen short of the prophetic demands of our times; that pastor’s children are motivated to murder; that “Christians” would feel justified defending a department that takes life when the one whom we claim as Lord came to give it abundantly.

As we mourn, may we feel our hearts rend with deep empathy. As we mourn, may we be convicted not to rest in sorrow, but to act more decisively, to speak more boldly, and live more intentionally in solidarity with our AAPI and BIPOC neighbors around the globe.

May we celebrate. May we mourn. And, may we act. May justice roll and may we be part of that movement.

An Open Letter to the U.S. Bishops of the UMC

Context: On Saturday, February 13th, 2021, U.S. delegates to General Conference and the five Jurisdictional Conferences of the U.S. gathered to hear a proposal from some members of the Council of Bishops that recommends no additional bishops be elected at the next Jurisdictional Conferences. You can watch the Webinar here.

Correction (2/16/21): Though I received information from a Central Conference delegate that the African bishops took a pay cut, there is no evidence to support this from the GCFA. I have also received information from UMNews that bishops are not given club status with airlines, though they may choose to purchase this on their own.

Bishop Tracy Malone and I in tearful prayer at General Conference 2019 after the passage of the Traditional Plan.

To the U.S. Bishops of The United Methodist Church,

As a seminarian and (mostly) proud United Methodist, I yearn to reject the idea that there are evil or destructive forces at play in the Council of Bishops. Unfortunately, my faith in you has been misplaced yet again. After your hands held my tears at the Special Session in 2019 as we gathered for prayer on the edge of the stage, and after so many of you came up to me and encouraged me to keep the faith, after we as a Church begged you to lead us and placed you in charge of this process in 2016, you have yet again let us down. Even writing that sentence—admitting you’ve let me down—causes me so much pain. I want to believe that there is good among you. Unfortunately, as a recent article on Hacking Christianity noted, “Instead of increasing the apportionment and actually paying for the bishops, GCFA’s budget defunded the bishops and caused this crisis in the first place. It has nothing to do with the COVID-19 pandemic. But instead of call them to accountability, the Bishops are falling on their own sword.” The sudden crisis you’re proclaiming is one of our own making, and one you seem to be exploiting at the expense of the Church. I hope you’ll read this letter with care because even while disappointed, I hold onto the hope that resurrection is possible.

A Call to Servant Leadership

As servant leaders, we are all called to walk in the ways of Jesus, to reject the seat of honor, to be the last, to serve and not be served. Many United Methodist clergy have not taken raises or had their salaries adjusted for the cost of living due to the financial troubles facing local churches and the UMC in general. Several clergy disclosed during the gathering on Saturday that they have sacrificed their raises year after year so that their churches would be able to pay their apportionments. This is profound servant leadership. Throughout the reports on Saturday, we heard a decrease in the funding for the missional work of the Church from 2017-2020: -15.1% for Africa University, -15.5% for the Black College Fund, -27% for Ministerial Education, -20.6% for Church and Society, -20.4% for Global Ministries, among many other decreases (available here). What does it say theologically and missionally that the only fund to increase is the Episcopal Fund by 6.7%?

Local pastors are sacrificing for the sake of the denomination, the African College of Bishops cut their salaries significantly, and the missional boards and agencies have been forced to lower their budgets. Why, then, would we not expect the same of our episcopal leaders in the U.S.? If we truly value missional vitality and the flourishing of local churches, why haven’t you seriously considered reducing your salaries, travel budgets, office budgets (or your rumored Admiral Status on American Airlines) for the sake of the Church? It is past time to lead by example.

As Bishop Fierro Harvey repeated several times on Saturday, “this is not permanent. We’re talking about the interim.” If you believe it is best not to strain the Episcopal Fund, which still had a reserve of $14.1 million as of 2020, why have you refused to lead sacrificially by cutting episcopal expenses, and have instead (possibly) over-extended your authority by strongly encouraging us to do your bidding at the Jurisdictional Conferences without fully disclosing the implications of your proposal?

Disturbing Implications of Your Proposal

If your proposal were to be followed, the bishops in league with the Wesleyan Covenant Association, which has already made its intent to separate from the UMC clear, would gain a slim majority in the Council of Bishops. As Hacking Christianity points out, “in 2016, the power to kick out any bishop, no matter their regional accountability through the colleges, was changed to be a majority vote of the whole council.” If your proposal were to be followed, Bishop Oliveto, the first openly Lesbian bishop, could be ousted, and the satanic forces of exclusion would prevail in our executive branch—led by sectarian leaders who intend to depart and leave us in shambles. Are we supposed to believe this is all coincidence? Why were these implications not listed in your recommendation? It would appear that some among you are using this manufactured “crisis” to gain control of our already troubled Church. I plan to vote for electing new bishops to honor the movement of the Holy Spirit and the hard work of grass roots United Methodists who elected an unprecedented number of inclusively-minded delegates to the General and Jurisdictional Conferences.

I urge you to withdraw your proposal in light of its disturbing implications, to seriously consider lowering your salaries and expenses, and for those among you who oppose this proposal to speak out vocally so that we might be led honestly and prophetically into the uncertain future ahead. I believe in the work God is doing through The United Methodist Church around the globe, which is why I cannot stay silent as our executive branch manipulates delegates through this manufactured crisis and actively works to secure conservative majority. Ecclesia semper reformanda; the church must continually be reformed.

J.J. Warren

General Conference Lay Delegate

Upper New York Annual Conference

A Year for Radical Kindness

Artwork by illustrator and advocate, Oh Happy Dani.

Christmas day has come and gone and the new year is just around the corner, but the spirit of this holy time persists. The Christmas season calls us into a deeper appreciation for the mystical and miraculous force we call “life,” which inhabits and flows through the wonderful world we call home. Our stories say that over 2,000 years ago, a different life took shape. This life, according to our tradition, was both the infinite power of the universe and a finite, historical brown refugee, Jesus of Nazareth. Christian tradition tells of the Logos, the “Word made flesh,” the logic of the universe, living among us; a concrete manifestation of the infinite possibilities that exist. All around us, even now in the midst of this pandemic, there are infinite possibilities.

If you’re like me, life during this pandemic makes that last sentence seem false. Other than streaming shows from Disney+ or Netflix every day, what can I do? My options in life seem severely limited—and I’m someone with a relative amount of privilege. The options of what we can safely do are made even more scarce by the pestilence of racism, transphobia, homophobia, classism, etc. Will all of these illnesses in the world, what possibilities really exist?

The Potential of Kindness

As the leftover potato salad and lebkuchen (almost like gingerbread, but sometimes covered in chocolate—and so delicious!) from Christmas dinner have been slowly eaten up, and as the days after Christmas have continued to pass, I’ve found myself meditating on the concept of kindness. As the artwork above says, to be kind is to remind someone that they are always worth celebrating. Though this seems like a simple and lovely message, the kind you’d expect on a Hallmark card, this poster was created by an activist of color whose artwork strives to portray concepts of social justice in clear and colorful ways. This concept of kindness isn’t the pop-culture Christian idea of helping out in to a soup kitchen to feel better. This kindness isn’t a top-down approach where a “generous” person kindly gives to those deemed “less fortunate” (who were made “less fortunate” by the same system that made the other person more fortunate). This kindness is simple and radical: remind someone that they are always worth celebrating.

Think about it, when’s the last time you felt celebrated? Was it your birthday? A special moment with someone you love? These moments when we feel seen, appreciated and celebrated transform us. Feeling celebrated not only changes our perceptions of ourselves, it changes the way we interact with others. Other people are worthy of celebrating and it’s up to each of us to do so! I can hear the song already, “Celebrate good times, come on!”

Imagine the possibilities all around you right now: who can you celebrate safely and how? After navigating border closures, quarantines, and an international relationship, my three months in Germany with my partner’s family over the summer were coming to an end. It was mid-October when we said goodbye and I headed back with much trepidation to the U.S. After landing, I was greeted by the national guard at the little Rochester International Airport in Rochester, New York. These fellas clearly had gotten some flack from other travelers, some had their heads down and looked sorry to be imposing on us. In our area of upstate New York, the red political leaning has led many to disregard the seriousness of the virus. As they politely stopped me to see if I had filled out the locator form, I showed my phone with a bit of impatience from traveling for 12 hours and kept going without saying a word. But then I stopped, turned around and said, “Thank you for what you’re doing to keep us safe.” The group smiled and it was clear that a simple thank you meant a lot to them. A single kind word changed an impatient, and somewhat uncomfortable situation, into a moment of celebrating their presence and valuing their work. We were all subtly transformed.

Privilege & Kindness

But does kindness look the same for everyone? As a white man, society already celebrates most of my identity. White men have held, and continue to hold, a disproportionate number of positions of power and wealth. A year of kindness undertaken by my fellow white men means intentionally celebrating women and all people of color as well as indigenous people and other marginalized communities. Kindness requires something different for each person. As a gay man, a year of kindness also includes self kindness by continuing to affirm my sexuality and the sexualities of others. To remind someone that they are worth celebrating when society has historically and constantly told them otherwise is the radical kindness that can reshape our world—a kindness found deep within our tradition.

As Eric Law discusses in his book, Wolf Shall Dwell with the Lamb, the cycle of the cross is essential for Christians to understand as it relates to privilege. For some, we have been the primary focus for so long that the cross requires us to sacrifice the attention and step back, to humble ourselves and recognize the privileges we’ve benefitted from. For others, they have been marginalized and silenced for so long, they’ve hung on society’s cross for ages and now is the time for resurrection. It’s time for them to be heard, to be a focal point, to shift the center. Each of us will experience the cycles of the cross, sometimes we must step back and sometimes we must step forward.

With the cycles of the cross in mind, kindness by a white man might look something like not being the first to speak in a Bible study—even if no one else does—so that there is space for others, who have been conditioned to wait, to share their ideas. This kindness could also be inviting someone who is not a white man to lead x, y, or z. For some people of color, kindness might look like speaking first in that Bible study or volunteering to lead x, y, or z. But, as a white person, I recognize my limitations here and won’t white manspain what kindness could look like for people of color. That is not my place. But, inviting each of us to think about how our privileges (gender, race, and class) inform the type of kindness we should be enacting is the the place of all religious folks.

A Tradition of Kindness

“Kindness is,” as a blog in Psychology Today described it, “an interpersonal skill.” Kindness is inherently relational, so it makes sense that Christianity, whose greatest commandments are relational (loving God and loving neighbors), should have something to say about kindness. This radically relational kindness finds its roots even before Christian communities in the Hebrew language. Kindness is a central theme throughout the Hebrew Bible.

Chesed (חֶסֶד‎), translated as kindness or loving-kindness, is difficult to translate perfectly into English and is also frequently translated as mercy, grace, a form of covenantal obligation, or steadfast love. As elusive as its translation is, chesed is essential for Jewish ethics. Chesed is something you do. Making peace after an argument, showing hospitality to a stranger, caring for the poor—these are all acts of chesed. In Exodus 15, “Moses’ Song” proclaims, “You in Your mercy (chesed) have led forth the people whom You have redeemed; you have guided them in Your strength to Your holy habitation” (Ex. 15:13). Mercy, kindness, steadfast love—chesed. The tradition that we claim continues the prophets of old is one founded upon an active kindness that shows mercy, that demonstrates love and devotion, and which looks differently depending on who performs it. So, how might this kindness guide us for 2021?

A Challenge for 2021

The possibilities are all around us—even in this pandemic—to do chesed, to celebrate those who have been silenced, to be radically kind. Making sure our neighbors have groceries, calling our grandparents or elderly friends to celebrate them while they can’t gather with their families, continuing to challenge racist actions and legislation where we can—these are but a few of the infinite possibilities. This type of kindness takes intention. We must meditate on it, contemplate it, grow in empathy and awareness of those who suffer what we do not suffer. This kindness requires us to be awake to injustices around us, to see the unseen, to celebrate the uncelebrated, and to step back so that others may step forward or step forward where others have stepped back.

May we be kind to one another this year in ways so bold and so intentional that not only are we ourselves transformed, but we continue to transform the world together. May it be so.

A Time to Prophesy

Therefore the land will mourn,

and all its inhabitants will perish.

The wild animals, the birds of the sky,

and even the fish in the sea will perish.

Do not let anyone accuse or contend against anyone else:

for my case is against you priests!

You stumble day and night,

and the false prophets stumble with you;

You have destroyed your own people!

(Hosea 4:3-5, NRSV)

Tonight, just 8 days before the election, Amy Coney Barrett was confirmed by the senate as the next Justice to the Supreme Court. This confirmation not only breaks the precedents which Republicans themselves advocated, it leaves us in the LGBTQ+ community in a troubling state of anxiety: will our country take away our ability to marry? For those that barely notice this confirmation, we can only say: “check your privilege.” To never have to worry about whether a political party will decide your future is a privilege. Barrett’s refusal to answer questions regarding Obergefell, the case that granted same-sex couples the right to marry, leaves us in a state of anxiety because her conservative colleagues on the court, Clarence Thomas and Samuel A. Alito Jr., made a joint statement in which they expressed their desire to overturn Obergefell. Their reasoning, “it stigmatized people of faith.” As we all should know, the right to religious freedom does not mean a right to impose the ethics of your religion (or your interpretation of your religion) on the rest of the U.S. This is not religious freedom, this is religious domination and tyranny disguised behind the pitiful conservative Christian veil of victimhood—of not wanting to live in a world where people have the ability to love in ways they don’t agree with.

I can be gracious toward conservative Christians and tolerate our differences in beliefs. I can engage in thoughtful conversations and earnestly hear their desire for holiness. What I cannot do is allow their beliefs to dictate my identity. So, is Amy Coney Barrett’s rushed confirmation a legitimate threat to gay marriage?—yes. It is indicative of the broader (though small in number) evangelical movement to define Christianity in the U.S. as an oppressive force which imposes its own ethics under the guise of religious freedom. These are the false priests of our time, those claiming to invoke the name of God for the efforts of injustice.

As progressive Christians, our task is to speak like Hosea, to condemn the priests who have become false prophets, using our faith in such a way that they are destroying their own people. The priests of ancient Israel held important roles in the regulating of community life; they kept the laws and interpreted them for the people; they were tasked with maintaining the relationship between the Divine and the human. But even in Hosea’s day, some priests sought personal gain and propped up systems of oppression. When the priests become false prophets, the prophets of YHWH must speak. Now is the time beloved. Now is past time. We must continue to stay engaged, educate about the intersections of racism, homophobia, and classism. We must not be afraid to claim our faith as a liberative one. We must not be afraid to prophesy!

In this election season—and beyond—may we powerfully prophesy the radical love of God. May we follow our words with actions. May we listen deeply and also confront and condemn misinterpretations and hate speech. May we be the vessels through which God’s justice and righteousness flow. May you feel this anointing to proclaim release to the religiously captive. Let the false prophets tremble. Let justice flow!

A Liturgical Memoir: Why Do You Worship the Way You Do?

A photo of Garrett Memorial Chapel on Keuka Lake, New York.

Recently I was asked in one of my seminary classes to reflect on why I think of worship in the way that I do—and to figure out what exactly I do think of worship (which is ongoing). The prompt was:

In 750-1000 words, write a liturgical autobiography/ritual memoir that focuses upon the cultural, familial, spiritual/theological, and ritual formative experiences that have shaped your understandings and practices of worship.

So much of my Christian experience has been doing and believing what others told me to do and believe. From Sunday school to confirmation, I got plenty of Jesus spoon-fed to me in between handfuls of goldfish. During college, as I wrote my book, and in the midst of another year of seminary classes, taking time to reflect on the things I’ve always taken for granted—the ideas, beliefs, and practices that were handed down to me—has been essential in my process of reclaiming my own faith as a liberating one. If you’re like me and have been so busy doing too many things—even during a pandemic—chances are you haven’t made the time to reflect on why you believe what you believe and why you worship the way you worship—I didn’t. Here’s a bit of my ritual memoir with the hope that it opens memories and thought processes of your own and invites you to write your own liturgical autobiography.

Playing Church

            When I was about five or six years old my younger brother and I loved to play church. It’s not the most typical childhood game, and we took it quite seriously. After school we would run toward the back yard of our house on Main St. in small-town America and set ourselves the task of creating our very own chapel. There was a little clearing in the weeds behind the old wooden shed and this became our holy playground. We collected sticks to tie together for a cross, begged our mom when we saw those wonderfully uncomfortable plastic children’s chairs outside the grocery store, poured Welch’s grape juice (as good Methodists) into a plastic cup, and “borrowed” a stack of saltines. Finally, we were ready to have our first service, and our mom and stuffed animals filled the seats. As cars distantly whooshed by on the other side of the house, and Mennonite buggies clipped and clopped along their way, my younger brother led our very serious procession, carrying the stick-and-twine cross and placing it in the weeds at the front of our chapel. I followed behind, walking with the painfully slow pace of the clergy we watched at the ecumenical (though predominantly Episcopalian) chapel we attended every summer. With the cup of grape juice and a few saltines in my hand, I invited the congregation to be seated, and after some opening remarks invited them to come forward and receive communion. Doing church was my favorite activity.

A Closer Look

            As I reflect on my childhood and those memories of playing church with my younger brother, I still feel a sense of great anticipation and wonder at the beauty of ritual. When we first moved to rural upstate New York from Ft. Lauderdale, FL, we moved into the cottage that my family used to vacation at every summer. Garrett Memorial Chapel, a 1930s stone chapel, which is located just up the hill from our cottage, became our family’s spiritual home in the summers; it’s also where my parents were married, where my oldest sister was married, and where my older brother proposed to his wife. Family and religious experience were intimately interconnected in this place, and the chapel continues to be a physical reminder of those summers passed where all six of my siblings and I were home together.

The chapel is styled after a Medieval Scottish chapel and played a large role in curating my ritual experiences and expectations as a child and as an adult. The cold dark stone walls of the sanctuary provided an austere but exciting setting for worship on many warm summer mornings. The solemnity of the space, reinforced by the solemnity of the Episcopalian liturgy, is most likely what still informs my deep affection for formal worship: a procession (with a cross-bearer who was typically one of my many siblings or me), a painfully—but reverently—slow clergy person, a strict and almost always identical Eucharistic liturgy, and a recessional hymn that brought the mystical wonder of the worship experience to an end for the day. This space and the Episcopalian liturgy were deeply foundational for my liturgical upbringing and remain important for familial reasons as well. My United Methodist home church, which we all attended every darn Sunday—except in the summer—was instrumental in my cultural and theological formation as well as in my familial understanding of church.

Family Church/Church Family

The purple stone steeple of Penn Yan UMC, just a block down the road from our house and on the corner of Main St. U.S.A. and Chapel St., rises high above the Episcopal church across the street, the kitty-corner 60’s style Presbyterian church, and the old brick Baptist church down the road. In this family-full United Methodist church, I sang in the children’s choir, attended Sunday School where my older siblings were some of our teachers, ate goldfish during coffee hour, and attempted to cook spaghetti with other teenagers for our youth group fundraisers. It was here that church became more—and less—than the wonderfully mystical Sunday morning experience. Worship was stripped down and the family service happened in the airconditioned Fellowship Hall with stage lights and sound systems. People drank coffee in their folding metal chairs as the contemporary band sang “Jesus is the rock and he rolls my blues away… bop shoo bop.” Here, where silence was sparse and children were plentiful; the church was a family. Worship led into coffee hour and Sunday School while our parents attended bible study and the older matriarchs and patriarchs of the church entered in their best suits and dresses for the traditional service as the loud sounds of the gigantic pipe organ in the three-hundred-person sanctuary found its way into our Sunday school classrooms before the teacher, a retired teacher from the local elementary school, asked my older sixteen-year-old sister (her “teaching helper”) to close the window.

            This constant motion and hubbub of blue- and white-collar families doing life together in small town U.S.A. was the culture of my United Methodist bringing. This upbringing has a lot to unpack theologically, certainly more than 1,000 words will allow. For now, one brief observation will have to do. Growing up in this church ingrained in me a theology that was heavily influenced by the small town American culture it existed in: Jesus loved all of us, wanted us all to get along so we could go along, wanted us to show up at the Chicken BBQ and help out at the food pantry. This was the respectable Jesus, the family Jesus that we worshipped. I’m thankful for him, and I’m thankful to have gone away to New York City for college where this Jesus was placed on a shelf alongside my other home town memorabilia while I encountered the feminist, queer-affirming, socialist Jesus in the hand-holding trans couples on the north lawn of my new home, Sarah Lawrence College.

“I’m Not Racist”

Image from https://www.earwolf.com/show/yo-is-this-racist/.

After a Minneapolis police officer was caught kneeling on the neck of George Floyd, ultimately killing him, many of us White people across the U.S.—and the world—were confronted with the reality that racism is running unchecked throughout the country. The quaint idea of the “equally obtainable” American dream for everyone, an illusion which still seduces some of my own family members, was shattered for many as we confronted the dissonance between our ideals as a nation and the actions of those who have sworn to serve and protect all of us. Many of us, myself included, woke up for the first time and realized we must be more vocal. We’ve been safe bystanders for too long while our friends and family of color are targeted outside supermarkets, inside their homes, or playing in the park.

Floyd’s death wasn’t the only recent event where an unarmed Black person was murdered by White police or White neighbors. In February, Ahmud Arbury, who was taking a jog in Georgia, was shot in the street by White men who called him a “F****** N*****.” 2020 has already been the deadliest year for Black transgender and non-binary people, with 22 known murders thus far. In March, Monika Diamond, a Black trans 34 year-old woman who was the co-CEO of an organization that honored parents of LGBTQ youth, was shot after being placed in an ambulance for shortness of breath. On July 3rd, Bree Black, a Black trans woman was shot to death in Pompano Beach, Florida. All of these people lost their lives because of racism—and yet, most of us won’t use this word.

I’ve just started reading Ibram X. Kendi’s New York Times Bestseller, How To Be An Antiracist, and he names something that I recognize from conversations with family members—and even in my own self-reflection. This is some of what he has to say about racism:

‘Racist’ is not… a pejorative. It is not the worst word in the English language; it is not the equivalent of a slur. It is descriptive, and the only way to undo racism is to constant identify and describe it—and then dismantle it. (page 9)

Self-Reflection

Have you ever been called racist after something you said?

How did you feel?

Why did you feel that way?

Was it because being a racist is bad and you’re not bad?

Is it possible that you messed up—that you did say something that promoted the idea that one community is inferior to another?

Is it possible you did say something racist?

If so, now what?

As I’ve grown in my own journey of public speaking, I’ve realized that being called out is an essential part of the process. Do I like it, hell no. Do I crumble into an emotional ball behind my iPhone and wish I had never spoken up in the first place—sometimes. But after a few hurt feelings, I realize that it’s not about me. Most people don’t call someone out because they dislike them personally, they’re just correcting them. The movement for justice is so much larger than anyone of us, and my White fragility, my wanting to be oh-so-careful not to say anything wrong to people of color, to prove how affirming I am, and my relying on these same people of color to educate me, correct me, and console me after being called out (which is wrong)—only slows the movement for racial justice. We cannot allow our hurt feelings to get in the way of the movement, or to rely on the marginalized community to hold our grief alongside theirs. I’ve learned to listen to the comment, really mediate on it, repent for my failure, and then I educate myself so that I don’t make the same mistake twice.

So, Should We Say Racist?

If you did the self-reflection above, then maybe you realized we’ve come to associate the term racist with being a bad person. As Dr. Kendi points out, “… racist and antiracist are not fixed identities. We can be a racist one minute and an antiracist the next. What we say about race, what we do about race, in each moment, determines what—not who—we are” (page 10). I was on the phone talking about the difference in COVID response between the U.S. and many European countries when the conversation abruptly moved to placing blame: “We need to tell the Chinese to stop spreading their viruses. It’s because of their bad hygiene,” the person on the other end of the call said. “That’s a racist comment,” I said. “I’m not racist,” they responded, and the conversation ended. But it shouldn’t have ended there. I needed to explain that they may not be a racist, but what they said was in fact racist.

Dr. Kendi writes, “This connecting of biology to behavior is the cradle of biological racism—it leads to biological ranking of the races and the supposition that the biology of certain races yields superior behavioral traits, like intelligence” (page 53). When the person on the phone generalized all people from China as unsanitary, they supported the racist idea that Chinese people are inferior to people in the U.S., which really means that people of Asian descent are inferior to White people—a racial hierarchy. Even if the person on the phone didn’t realize this connection, they were perpetuating a racist idea, and it had to be called out. A racist is, as Dr. Kendi defines it, “One who is supporting a racist policy through their actions or inaction or expressing a racist idea” (page 13).

Racist ideas are those that view one race, one population of humanity, as inferior to another. Rather than seeing difference as difference, a racist idea is that the other is bad and mine is good. So, when we feel these reactions rise within us, we must label them what they are: racist. We can’t allow ourselves to wallow in this self-pity for too long asking, “Oh gosh, am I a racist?” We confront these thoughts, repent of them, educate ourselves, and correct others who make the same mistakes so that one day we might all be free. So, use the term. Call out racists statements, actions, and policies. Educate your friends and family. Listen to people of color. Together, when we all rise up to fight racism, we engage in the intersectional struggle for justice—against homophobia, transphobia, ageism, sexism, ableism and all those isms that keep us from experiencing Heaven on Earth.

Now, let’s go and keep building Heaven together!

Don’t Wait for General Conference

After the proposed dates for General Conference 2021 were leaked two weeks ago, I teamed up with Ann Jacob, Jessica Vittorio, Alejandra Salemi, and Carlene Fogle-Miller, all young United Methodists, to petition the Commission on the General Conference to choose alternative dates. The proposed dates are August 31-September 10, 2021--at the same time that many young people will be moving to new places for the start of university semesters, young professors will beginning new terms, and young parents will be getting their children into the new routines for their first days of school. See the problem? 

Now more than ever the voices of young people need to be present at the decision making tables of our Church. Next week my co-authors and I of the petition, which received support from the Council of Bishops, will be meeting with the Commission on GC to discuss alternative dates (perhaps 2022) and/or incorporating video conferencing (like Zoom) to make the Church's meetings more accessible (while taking into account regions that do not have high-speed internet). This is all to say that, no matter what the Commission decides to do, we will have AT LEAST an extra year before the next General Conference. So, what should we do?

Sine the start of my virtual preaching circuit last month, churches around the connection have asked that question: what should we do now? I won't pretend to have the answer, nor will I pretend that we are all on the same page--would we really be Methodists if we were?! What I hope to offer here are a few practical ways that queer affirming churches around the world can best utilize this extra time before GC. Ready? Here we go!

1. Embrace Technology: Without travel, the cost of brining in pastors, speakers, or lay people from other churches is minimal, which means that if your pastor or your reconciling group is confident in their abilities to walk others through the reconciling process, you can do that over Zoom! How could you partner with a church in rural Mississippi, Alabama, Germany, or Kenya? How could you connect with churches who are farther along or haven't begun the reconciling process? Use this extra time to embrace technology, to build relationships, open hearts, and build beloved community! This leads me to my second challenge,

2. Embrace the Connection: I know it sounds cheesy, and when the Council of Bishops kept repeating "lean in to the connection," it may have seemed somewhat out of touch with the impending schism. What I mean by this is, like I said above, we can connect with people around the world like never before--and that's a tremendous gift. As we prepare for GC, whenever that is, we have the chance to be agents of authentic change, building relationships that prepare for and shape what's next in the UMC. How can your church walk along side a church that isn't affirming yet; how can you partner with churches beyond the U.S. to hear the importance of the UMC in their areas; how can you embrace the connection like never before and be part of transforming it into a true place of love--or at the very least, mutual understanding? 

3. Embrace Change: Again, this sounds simple and cheesy--and your churches are probably already doing this so I'll be their echo for a moment. Whenever this pandemic ends, we will all be different and we already are--but that's not bad. The way we do church has changed, the way we build and define community has broadened, and all the things we took for granted won't seem the same. Continue to acquaint your church with technology so that these global relationships will continue after the physical distancing measures are loosened. Use this dramatic moment of change as a launching point for honest conversation with your church about the realities facing the UMC. Prepare your community to use the lessons we've learned now so that we can be as adaptive in the future. 

These are just a few simple challenges that you may already be engaging in, but it's my hope and conviction that if every church and church-goer takes these simple steps, we'll see a very different GC whenever it happens. May we each be vessels of the Divine for such a time as this, reaching out and building relational bridges, reimagining and embracing new forms of community, and reclaiming the very idea of church together. 

A Pandemic of Faith

It may seem too soon to see hope. It is. And it isn’t. First, we have to allow ourselves room to name and experience grief. We have lost a lot. This pandemic is showing us all what folks at the margins of our capitalist system experience daily: lack of food, not enough income to pay rent, not having access to the supplies we want or need, lack of access to medial care. For many of us, we are experiencing a profound amount of insecurity—a looming darkness in our consciousness so heavy and opaque that it numbs us or weighs on our spirits inducing anxiety and uncontrollable fear. It’s healthy to begin by naming these emotions.

It’s been three weeks since the U.S. recognized the seriousness of COVID-19 and began suggesting physical distancing. At first, my closeted introverted self was alright with flying solo for a while, but this gouging of physical interaction has changed our world more than I expected. And what’s even more strange is that that last statement isn’t an exaggeration—our world is drastically different today than it was three weeks ago, and the Church will be too.

I remember teaching my grandmother how to FaceTime 5 or 6 years ago. Touching a glass screen and seeing another face seemed so odd and unfamiliar, but it was something fun to try. Now, it’s the only way for us to safely communicate (though I admit I should FaceTime her more often… Sorry, Grandma!). Classes, family dinners, meetings, birthday parties, and even worship services are all going online. Everything I took for granted in our interconnected world has had to shift to a virtual medium. Many important questions have arisen from this strange moment we find ourselves in and we can be sure that academics, influencers, bloggers, and even your grandparent will be talking about this for years.

One of the most important changes I’ve experienced is a new awareness of the value of community. This moment has led many to interrogate sociological questions like: how are communities defined and constructed, how do we identify who our people are if it’s no longer about geographical location or which grocery store we enter (Walmart or Trader Joe’s)?

This moment also beckons forth the need for powerful theological reflection on everything from the sacraments (is it still real communion if the pastor’s hands don’t physically wave over your bread and juice?) to the very identity of what it means to be the church when we can’t physically gather together in a sanctuary. This is HUGE. And confusing. And scary. And, it’s also exciting.

After we’ve allowed ourselves space to grieve—and continue name this emotion as often as it emerges—we’re able to see the glimmers of hope and potential good that we can make together from this experience. As many Christians often say, “We’re Easter people!” Even in the midst of Lent’s 40 days of reflection which begins with the solemn remembrance of our mortality on Ash Wednesday, the Sundays of Lent are mini-Easters—otherwise Lent would be 46 days. Our liturgical calendar of the Church is organized in such a way that we should be uniquely familiar with experiencing hope in the midst of long periods of despair.

Have you experience a mini-Easter during the days of Lent 2.0/COVID-19? Have you allowed yourself to not feel guilty for taking a day off or for looking for the glimmers of hope that can come from this collective experience?

Over the coming weeks, I’m looking forward to spending my mini-Easters by reflecting on how this moment will impact the Church around the world for the better and writing these thoughts on my neglected blog page. Stay tuned, and stay safe!

Food Stamps and a Call to Prophesy

As people of faith, we interpret the world through a particular theological lens. Amidst the U.S. government’s plan to change the food stamp qualifications, which will leave over 700,000 people without the ability to receive food, hear these words from the prophet Amos:

Therefore because you trample on the poor
    and take from them levies of grain,
you have built houses of hewn stone,
    but you shall not live in them;
you have planted pleasant vineyards,
    but you shall not drink their wine. (Amos 5:11 NRSV)

While the occupant of the White House continues to profit off of the presidency, many enter this holy season of Advent with fear. Where will their next meal come from? How can they work when the government places them in a state of fear? Women find their stories and bodies disrespected, the queer community is underhandedly dealt secret setbacks by some republican law makers across the country, people of color continue to be targeted by white nationalists who have been emboldened by Trump’s lack of care for human decency and lack of acknowledgement of our inherently unequal prison system. Children are dying of the Flu in U.S. concentration camps along the southern border while doctors offering free vaccines were denied entry.

And now, as we approach one of the holiest times of year for Christians, a time when generosity, peace, and goodwill ought to radiate from the silent nights of manger scenes; now the U.S. government decides to change its regulations for food stamps and not allow states the freedom to waive a requirement that able-bodied adults work a minimum of 20 hours/week to remain on the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (food stamps). Surely this is not the “blessed are the poor” message which Jesus, who was birthed in a feeding trough to parents who would become political refugees in Egypt, came to proclaim.

So what can we do?

As people of faith, we interpret the world around us through a particular theological lens. Apply your faith to the world. We cannot allow the fundamentalist Christian voices to be the only “Christian” opinion. We are called to speak boldly and to prophesy against injustices such as this. We are called to call out tyranny, to name the harm being done by our own religious and political institutions against the poor and the intentionally dispossessed. We are called to be prophets–if not in front of a crowd then at least to our neighbors.

Prophecy isn’t only a megaphone, it’s also a conversation over coffee, a breaking down of perceived barriers–it’s an invitation into a vision of a better world.

So, in this Advent of 2019, I repeat and interpret the words of Amos from the 8th century B.C.E. Therefore, because we trample on the poor and take from them, we have built corporations of massive wealth, and have a global economy which supplies our supermarkets with piles of food, but this abundance is not shared…

May we be justice-seeking prophets this Advent so that we might one day enjoy the silent night of peace… together.

Blessed are the Bridge Builders

I love living in Boston. It feels like sacrilege for me to say that since I always thought NYC would be home. But, I love living in Boston.

Until now, I haven’t had a chance to experience the mundane routines of life here. I know that doesn’t sound exciting, but after being in a different state almost every weekend, the mundane has become precious. Having time to buy groceries (as much as I started out hating it) has become one of my highlights of the week. It sounds lame–and maybe it is–but I enjoy it.

To avoid being a hermit, I decided to work on my final papers in a cafe downtown near the commons. It’s about a 20 minute ride on the T, Boston’s subway, from where I live. Boston doesn’t really get the subway like New York does. Many of the trains only have two cars for a platform full of commuters. Today, I hurried on to one of these small two-car trains and sat down without looking around.

As the train lurched forward, the man next to me bumped into me. I moved over to give him some space. He was wearing a tattered Celtics jacket and a soiled brown hat. As I moved, he muttered under his breath, “I’m not gay.”

I kept looking down at the floor and said nothing. The train stopped and then lurched forward again. He bumped into me but I didn’t move. “I’m not gay. Go find another seat. Those gays…” he kept muttering under his breath.

Talking with folks who are currently without homes is somewhat anxiety provoking for me. After I preached at an outdoor service in Rochester, NY last summer, a woman who was without a home came up to me and said, “Repent you Sodomite.” She wouldn’t leave until the pastor kindly moved her along.

The train emptied so I turned to him and softly said, “Would you like more space? I can move if you’d like.”

He looked at me and his expression completely changed. “Oh no, I’m sorry,” he said. “I get anxious around all these people and I just start saying things… I can own up to my mistakes when I make ’em… You were just minding your own business. I’m sorry.”

When I first entered the train, I didn’t look at this man, and as we sat next to each other I felt fear welling up because of the biases I held. And yet, one kind question and some short eye contact completely diffused the situation. I got to hear some of this man’s story. But this episode doesn’t show the systematic motivators behind these encounters.

Because of our lack of care for those in poverty, this man wasn’t able to receive care for his anxiety, and in turn, he lashed out with homophobic slurs. We live in a society that perpetuates these situations. Someone is pushed to the margins of society, they’re uncared for and they reach out for an easy target to blame (which is easy when our President constantly bullies those who are different from him). Then, the people being unfairly blamed respond out of valid fear/anger to the person. The cycle continues and so does the deeply dividing apathy.

Jesus said to those gathered around him, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” (Matt. 5:9) The very next verse says, “Blessed are those who are persecuted…”

To be a peace maker requires building bridges even across the chasms of our differing perspectives–even when we’re being persecuted. I recognize that not all encounters are like this one, and that different identities face a very real danger. In this situation, the man on the train was a victim of a system that enables us to go on with our days while he sits alone and uncared for on a public train. Though his words were offensive, I understood that his issue was not really with me. I had to overcome my own righteous indignation–and my own biased apathy–to see this man as equally deserving of God’s compassion.

When we’re able to truly see God in one another, we build bridges that connect folks whom our society has systematically kept apart. Together, we can be healing balm for the world, peace makers who call out injustice while loving the neighbors whom they were previously conditioned not to interact with. We can move beyond barriers and build a better world, together.

For God so Loved the World

Since attending seminary, I’ve spent more time than usual on introspection, on examining my inner self. I’ve sat through many lectures where we were asked to ponder why we believe what we believe, respond in the ways that we do and relate to the world as we do. I’ve also been asked to contemplate questions like, what does home mean for me? Is it a place, a people, a person, an experience? Why do I associate home with that person/place/experience? As I seek to make Boston my home–my dwelling–how does my life thus far inform my home-making process? What people/places/experiences do I seek in order to truly dwell here–and why?

These are questions which have probably caused many of us tension when we moved cities or experienced some sort of change. And yet, we know that change is natural, so by identifying within ourselves the things that keep us grounded and why they do so, we’re able to adapt and find home wherever we are.

I was recently asked to reflect on the spiritual disciplines that impacted my childhood. To my surprise, communion was front and center. Communion? Important to an eight-year-old? I know, it’s weird. My younger brother and I loved to play Church. We would get bread from the kitchen along with a grape juice box, and we’d set up plastic blue chairs in the weeds behind the garage. (I know this sounds unorthodox, but I don’t remember Jesus telling his disciples they had to be ordained first… that’s a debate for another blog!) We tied sticks together for a cross, and then we sang and had communion. Once we were on a road trip, and I remember that we put a blanket over the seat to close in our backseat chapel where we reverently ate bread and drank grape juice. It could only be done in the chapels we made and it had to be done with the sincerest reverence. No gobbling the bread–just little pieces broken off.

Today, Christians around the world celebrated World Communion Sunday, a tradition that was recognized by the National Council of Churches in 1940. As countries around the world were taking sides and entering into World War II, the National Council of Churches was removing denominational barriers. When the world seemed most divided, the Church sought to embrace the ecumenical Christian family–to bring people together.

In The United Methodist Church, there is a mandatory special offering for higher education and specialized scholarships for minority groups which happens on World Communion Sunday in UM churches around the world (1972 Book of Discipline, paragraph 163.b). Together, we are providing access to higher education to folks who have previously been denied the opportunity. Together, we celebrate World Communion Sunday and find ourselves in a world not all that different from 1940. Global politics are increasingly divisive as the U.S. and China war with tariffs, families are separated and children held captive; the climate crisis is causing millions of people worldwide to challenge their government’s lack of action, and the U.K. risks a new election over Brexit and their third government in three years.

The United Methodist Church is on the precipice of schism as far right voices try to disassemble the Church altogether and leave nothing behind. The self-titled “liberationists” seek to end the harm done to marginalized communities, as I hope to as well, but at what cost? Does their vision of complete separation from those who are willing to learn but need guidance truly transform the world or transform individual communities? Does ending the Church end the harm to LGBTQ+ persons, women, people of color and so many historically marginalized communities?

There are no easy answers. If I’ve learned anything from seminary so far it’s that theologians really like to ask questions, but they don’t like to answer them. Engaging in the questioning, however, is essential; it makes each of us see the world and our divisions not in narrow terms of right and wrong.

It’s amidst this chaos and questioning that we celebrate World Communion Sunday. Let me leave you with this:

What I love about The United Methodist Church is that we are a global Church. People around the world are engaging in well digging, education offering, life-changing opportunities that we could not do alone. AND as a global Church, we enable the conversation around LGBTQ+ inclusion to happen globally. Folks in Kenya can go to Moheto First UMC and attend a United Methodist Church which is inclusive of LGBTQ+ people and connected to over 1,100 other UM communities around the world with Reconciling Ministries Network.

In the upcoming summer, I will be visiting German United Methodists, and I’m currently working with United Methodists in Ethiopia and the Philippines to support their efforts of LGBTQ+ inclusion. Because of our global connection, we are able to transform the world together and offer safe spaces for queer folks–not just in the U.S., but around the world.

May we pray, on this World Communion Sunday of 2019, for the ecumenical family of Christ-followers around the world–that we would seek justice together, working cooperatively to bring peace across international and denominational boundaries. May we recommit to a unity which is not grounded in an ignorance of our wrongdoing, but one which confesses our failures to LGBTQ+ people and people of color; one which challenges us to be transformed ourselves and to continue the work of transformation in each community around the world. Amen.

Troubling the Waters

“Wade in the water
Wade in the water, children
Wade in the water
God’s gonna trouble the water”

Last week and into the weekend I had the opportunity to speak at the Leadership Institute which was held at the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection in Leawood, Kansas. This gathering of 2,500 UMs from roughly 1,500 UM churches was for held for the purpose of, “helping United Methodist leaders navigate and lead through the next steps for the denomination.” To gather centrists and progressives, and attempt to build bridges of understanding upon which we can march forward together toward the Promised Land of inclusion for LGBTQ+ folks–and all marginalized communities–is no small feat.

Speaking to those gathered from a young queer perspective.

Many queer folks and people of color have been resisting the evils and oppressions of our Church for decades, and the burden has been passed on from generation to generation. These folks bring a perspective and experiences which are different from those who are just beginning the process of resistance and getting involved in denominational change. It’s a difficult task to honor the disproportionate burden placed on queer people and people of color and create space for newcomers to be educated on the harms done.

As a good friend said on Twitter after the conference, “It is very easy for me to criticize, complain and poke holes at things.” In our struggle for denominational justice we will fail and have failed the LGBTQ+ community, people of color, immigrants, disabled persons, women, and so many others. As we continue to tread this path together, we will inevitably harm one another on occasion–but if I’ve learned anything from my seminary community it’s that we must assume the best of folks if we want to make meaningful change and engage in truly transformative dialogue. We will on occasion harm each other, and when we assume the best, we have the opportunity unpack our mistakes and learn from them.

With all that said, the conference informed us of the plans coming before the General Conference in May 2020 re: the future of the UMC. You will hear more about these plans as the time gets closer (and I have time to give them each my full attention).

As the black spiritual sung on the underground railroad reminds us, we are called to wade into the waters of uncertainty and fear because God’s gonna trouble the waters, and God’s Spirit will do the unimaginable. We can throw each other in the water, we can run away, or, we can take the hand of our black/brown/immigrant/LGBTQ+ neighbor and wade into this moment together as we await the movement of God’s Spirit in our Church and in the world.

Forward Together: A Not-So Easy Challenge

It’s been quite a while since I’ve had the chance to sit down, breathe, and contemplate writing a blog post. Over the past 3.5 months, I’ve visited 32 different worshipping communities in ten different states. It’s been a marathon (and if you’d like to keep more constantly up to date, just text the word “FORWARD” to 66866 and you’ll receive my bi-weekly newsletter). The race has been long, but it’s been fulfilling. Even though it’s the end of my summer circuit ride,” it’s the beginning of so much more.

My time this summer has been spent writing my upcoming book, Reclaiming Church: A Call to Action for Religious Rejects (which will be published in February), and preaching at churches, area gatherings and annual conferences all across the connection. Each community has been unique and has had differing views on the best way forward for our Church. My theme this summer was “Forward Together,” which proved to be an unlikely, but well-received challenge to many. As I begin planning my winter speaking schedule, a pastor from the south said to me, “I know you’ve had it easy in the West. Are you ready for the south?”

It’s funny, before I got here (“here” being Arizona, Montana, Oregon, and California), I too wondered what impact I could possibly have on churches who have been working toward the inclusion of LGBTQ+ folks since before I was born. What should my message be? What was my role in such a time as this, and in such a place as this? Would it be too easy?

I quickly realized that “easy” did not characterize my role out here or the message I shared. Many of the folks here have been working toward LGBTQ+ inclusion for decades, and many are tired, worn out, and frankly pissed off. They don’t want to continue supporting an institution which is decades behind the moral arc of justice. They’re tired and they’re ready to leave.

To discuss moving forward together with these worn-out sojourners for justice was not so easy.

When I arrived in Sacramento almost four weeks ago, I was asked to preach on Luke 12 and the parable of a wealthy man. I wasn’t sure how this would fit into my summer theme, so I contemplated it for days. Finally the night before I suddenly got it (more like I finally spent some quality time with God about it).

In this parable, a man’s harvest is so great that he has to decide what to do. His storehouses are too small and he couldn’t possibly use all of it himself. So, he decided “I’ll tear down my storehouses and build bigger ones! Then, I can tell my soul, ‘Soul, you’ve done well. Relax and enjoy.'” But at this moment God said to the man, “You fool! Tonight your life will be taken, and then what good will your harvest be? Who will enjoy the abundance you have?”

For many LGBTQ+ affirming United Methodists–and Christians in other denominations–it can feel like we’ve got a storehouse that is full of social justice. Our local churches may have been affirming of all sexualities and working toward racial reconciliation for decades. We might have an abundance of social awareness, so why not leave, keep our stores of social reconciliation, and rest a while?

Well, queer babies will continue to be born around the world, and they will need safe spaces to worship and be their God-given selves. What will happen to our harvests of social consciousness? Who will benefit from our labors?

The day may be soon when we inclusive folks leave together the denomination. My hope is that no matter what happens to the denomination as a whole, rather than keep our social awareness to ourselves in our local church/region, let’s use this opportunity to engage in our connection of inclusive churches–and churches who are willing to take the journey. Let’s deconstruct our social storehouses and provide teachings and partnerships with folks around the world who are willing to take the journey of understanding. Let’s partner with rural churches in Mississippi or Kenya, and let’s be the people of a global social consciousness.

Let’s use this moment to commit that no matter what happens to our denomination, we, as the inclusive churches, will continue our connection to each other, and bind ourselves together in love so that we might transform the WORLD through the liberating and unconditional love of Jesus. We have been called for such a time as this to face our fears, to continue to run the race, and to work together toward the Kin-dom of God–on earth as it is in Heaven.

Why Pride Matters

I’ll never forget walking around general conference and meeting a white-haired elderly woman. She looked at me and said, “I’ve been fighting for this since I was your age.“ Her entire lifetime was spent seeking to make the church a safe space not just for herself, but for me and future generations who would hope to call this church our home. I can be who I am today because of those brave souls who came before and forged this path for me. I hope my generation will continue to tread the path of justice as boldly and eloquently as those before us.

I’m sure you’ve seen quite a bit of this in the news recently, but 50 years ago on this weekend a riot broke out at the Stonewall Inn in NYC. Apparently, some police would enter gay bars and arrest or beat those who had gathered. On June 12, 2016 a 29-year-old walked into a gay nightclub in Orlando called Pulse, and murdered 49 people and injured 53 others.

Many people wonder why we need Pride; why must we celebrate the LGBTQ+ community so loudly? In Boston, a group has received approval to host a straight pride. They don’t understand why one group should celebrate who they are.

Pride matters for several reasons, the first of which being that it continues to raise visibility; it reminds the world that we have a right to exist. Straight folks typically don’t need to do that. Growing up in a small town, I didn’t know that being gay existed. I thought who I was was just a deviancy from the norm—something which had to be corrected because it couldn’t possibly exist.

Pride matters because it’s a reminder not only of how far we have come, but a challenge to press on further toward full equality for the entire LGBTQ+ community. Same-sex couples are still turned away from churches and bakeries, trans women of color are still shot dead in the streets, sex ed in public schools primarily teaches heterosexual practices which leaves queer children ill-prepared.

Pride matters for me, and I hope it matters for you. One accepting adult can save a queer kid’s life. LGBTQ+ youth are four times more likely to commit suicide than their straight peers. WE can be safe spaces. WE can save lives. WE can all share pride in the LGBTQ+ community. May it be so.

UMC: What’s Next?

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1)

Since last Friday, I have flown roughly 2,890 miles, taken countless selfies, and fluctuated emotionally between awe, despair and hope. Throughout the last five days and two conferences, two things are clearer for me than ever: the Spirit of our living God is still with us; we are stronger together (though we will continue to explore what being together looks like). Please take these words to heart and nestle them there; hold onto this hope during the turbulence ahead.

On Friday evening, people of color (poc), trans people (t), queer folks (q), and those who live at the intersections of these identities gathered with allies at Lake Harriett UMC in Minneapolis, Minnesota. This summit (#OMFSummit) is essential to the continuing conversations of the future of Methodism because it centered the voices of marginalized peoples—the conversation was with us and not merely about us.

At this summit, we not only discussed the importance of allyship (“having our back”), but also of radical solidarity (being with marginalized groups and seeing your own personal liberation as tied to the liberation of all people—especially poc/t/q people). When we see the hurt of our poc/t/q neighbors as our own hurts, our hearts are softened and can be molded into hearts of Christ. The Rev. Dr. Jay Williams from Union UMC in Boston named a non-negotiable for the ensuing dialogues: “We cannot compromise queer liberation.” Whatever comes next, it must be a Church which liberates queer people—not one which simply allows us to participate—but one which celebrates and affirms our gifts and callings; one which lets us lead.

And inextricably tied to this queer liberation is the dismantling of white supremacy, the recognition of our racist history, and a confession of the present inequality which black and brown clergy and laity face in our United Methodist Church. This movement of liberation must also address the inequality between female clergy and their male counterparts. We must admit and commit to change the fact that many female pastors have experienced sexual harassment in our Church, that they are disrespected and devalued by many of their male clergy colleagues and male parishioners.

To be in radical solidarity means to participate in the liberation of all people.

These conversations continued as we discussed the possibilities of remaining and resisting from within, of starting something new, and of some middle ground between leaving and staying which would accommodate for the diversity found in our various contexts. This work was just the beginning of the conversation, and you can read the UM-Forward proclamation here. On Sunday evening I flew to Kansas City with representatives from every annual conference in the U.S. for the UMC Next event.

What was powerful about both of these events was the true community I experienced. Unlike General Conference, I felt no need for protest or fear; I entered a community which sought to love more boldly and center the voices of LGBTQ+ people like me, and of people of color, in the identity of our Church. I experienced the beauty and hope found in our connection. I heard stories of small reconciling communities in Alaska and Georgia which have made their unconditional welcome known by joining Reconciling Ministries Network. I heard from pastors and lay people in Mississippi, Texas and Florida who are creating safe spaces for queer people in their United Methodist churches. I heard from the Western Jurisdiction about their coordinated effort to provide “safe harbor” to queer clergy from other conferences whose credentials are threatened.

I heard United Methodists from all over the U.S. share what they are doing to build the inclusive Kin-dom of God. Together we are making a difference and saving lives not only in the U.S., but as centrist/progressive United Methodists around the world. We are stronger together, and we are reclaiming our Church together.

At UMC Next, we were placed around 78 tables with folks from other conferences and identities as we discussed several questions each day. The questions ranged from what are your hopes/fears, would you support exit plans if necessary, could you lead your people through the process of remaining and resisting? We also discussed several plans for the restructuring of the denomination and clearly affirmed together that “we will not abide by the Traditional Plan,” and that we demand the removal of discriminatory language from the Book of Discipline. This is the Church which we long for and invite all of us to create together.

No, we did not create a consensus as to whether we should stay or leave, but this is only just the beginning. This is one of the first times that progressives and centrists (who are the majority in the U.S.) came together to discuss how we can be the Church which we see God calling us to be. The Wesleyan Covenant Association sold our global siblings a lie by suggesting that the Traditional Plan would not fracture our connection or destroy the boards and agencies which support ministries around the globe. The majority of the U.S. Church will no longer stand by as discrimination runs rampant through our denomination, neither will German United Methodists abide by the discrimination against LGBTQ+ people found in our Book of Discipline.

A new thing is coming. Like never before, folks are standing up in rural churches and cities, in countries where same-sex acts are still illegal, and we are proclaiming that the year of the Lord is upon us; that justice will fall like a mighty rain and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

So, as the majority of the U.S. Church continues to discuss our strategies for creating an inclusive Church—whether that be by reforming our current denomination or by creating a new denomination—our connection to each other as centrists and progressives is essential. As of now, Church of the Resurrection (the largest UMC in the U.S.) plans to remain, resist, and reform from within our current structure, while developing plans for a new denomination. I intend to do the same.

As the plans for a new denomination are progressed through further conversations, we are not powerless. We are equally committed to continuing the decades of resistance. More churches than ever are joining Reconciling Ministries Network, more individuals are becoming reconciling individuals, and we are coming together as centrists and progressives to build a network, to say that we will not abide by the Traditional Plan, nor any discrimination against poc/t/q children of God.

You are not powerless. You have a voice in the future of what God is doing with Methodism. Encourage your church to boldly profess that you affirm and celebrate people of all sexual orientations, gender identities, races, and abilities. Share your story of why inclusion is important to you—share with your pastor/congregation, share with your conservative neighbor, share with your bishop. Resistance and reform are active processes which require all of us to act boldly together.

May God continue to inspire our imaginations; to open hearts, minds and doors; to empower us to boldly proclaim the justice and inclusion of all people—especially poc/t/q people. No matter what the future holds, I have hope because we are moving forward together. We are not alone.

And best of all, God is with us.

Peace,

J.J. Warren