On the night before Kansas City 2015, which ran June 30-July 5, I ran into Nick Miller, an old acquaintance of mine. He had grown up in Cincinnati Mennonite Fellowship, where I pastored before coming to Columbus (Ohio) Mennonite Church.

He had gone to Goshen (Ind.) College and studied American Sign Language. He said there were four deaf youth registered for the convention, and he was there as the interpreter for the youth worship services.

Nick’s job of interpretation connected with the convention theme “On the Way,” a phrase taken from the Emmaus Road story in Luke 24. Embedded in this story is an act of interpretation, of Jesus himself interpreting to his followers the meaning of their Scriptures.

The opening worship service on June 30 was a joint gathering with the youth and adults.

Sure enough, there on the side of the stage was Nick: arms, hands and fingers interpreting the meaning of the service.

Even though I understand almost no sign language, it was hard to not look at him.

Through his movements the spoken words became a language of the limbs, an animated body becoming an extended act of communication, dancing its way into the mind, not through the ear but through the eye. There may have been a small group of deaf youth and adults present, but I’m certain I wasn’t the only hearing person in the room who looked at Nick more than the speaker. The thing about interpretation is that people are watching, even if you aren’t intending to communicate directly with them, even if they don’t yet understand.

People are watching.

If the official theme of the week was “On the Way,” the unofficial theme had everything to do with who is on the way and how or if we are all going to be traveling together. More specifically, the question front and center was how to relate with our lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or queer (LGBTQ) fellow travelers.

This is not a new question; it’s one the denomination has officially had in front of it for over three decades.

But it has recently become the presenting issue that reveals underlying theological and philosophical differences among us. July 2 was the day we delegates voted on the two resolutions related to this, but the whole week of delegate and worship sessions was full of code language such as unity, diversity, biblical faithfulness and inclusion.

The most powerful experience of the week for me happened soon after the Membership Guidelines vote, right after that afternoon’s session ended.

After learning of the results of the vote— a vote taken without allowing for any official input or voice from LGBTQ leaders—Pink Menno folks made an on-the-spot decision to present a silent witness in the hallway. They positioned themselves in the hallway far enough apart that people could walk by but close enough and staggered in such a way that people had to wind their way through them in order to.

They stood there, not moving or talking.

Some even had pink duct tape over their mouths to symbolize their voice and story not being welcome. Passers-through had to choose whether to make or avert eye contact with these folks. They had to choose what facial expression to communicate, whether or not to hug, talk, scoff or suddenly have an urgent text to look down at.

Coming out of the delegate hall, already emotionally exhausted from the day, I turned down the hallway and saw these brave friends. I lost it. I couldn’t walk another step. I was shaking in the convention hallway right in front of these people for God knows how long. My gay brother emerged from the group and embraced me and comforted me.

What was so powerful about that extended moment was how clearly, for those with eyes to see, Pink Menno represented Christ.

We had just finished voting under the auspices of preserving an institution that claims to represent Christ in the world—and does, in so many beautiful ways—and here we were, confronted with the one we had just cast out in order to preserve ourselves, the outsider, “the stone the builders rejected” (Psalm 118:22), the Christ.

Their presence was no longer an issue for discussion but a bodily fact, and their bodies became instruments of interpretation, revealing the meaning of the situation. Limbs, hands, bodies, dancing their way into our consciousness. “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have declared” (Luke 24:25).

The convention hall became the Emmaus Road, and the stranger came and journeyed alongside us, interpreting all these things about himself. Our hearts burned within us, and Christ was recognized. Or not.

When I saw the Pink Menno witness, I thought, Why do you even stay around? Why do you put up with this abuse?

Not everyone will choose to.

One friend posted on Facebook, “Well, Mennonite Church USA, the resolution passed, still formally excluding GLBTQ folks from formal recognition in the church. Any doubt of why I left the church and why religion leaves a bad taste in my mouth was confirmed again this morning. Wake up. This will be my last year interpreting for convention.”

That friend, you may gather from the last line, was Nick, the interpreter, who happens to be gay.

Interpretation is a basic human act, and certainly a basic Christian act.

What does all this mean, and how then shall we live? It is the vocation of the Christian to interpret the world through the revelation of Jesus Christ. It is clear that we are living with some very different interpretations these days—interpretations made in the name of Christ.

I’d like to invite us all into this vocation of interpretation—not merely as an intellectual exercise but as an act of our bodies. To allow our lives to be an act of interpretation of who Christ is. The beauty and vitality of interpretation is that it honors the past; it receives and identifies with the tradition, even as it acknowledges that it is not a dead thing. It is alive.

“The word of God is living and active,” says the author of Hebrews.

To interpret is to allow our life, our mind and our body to be an intersection of what is received and the new thing that is coming into being. At this point, nobody’s quite sure what that new thing will be. I’m grateful to be on the way with you all.

Joel Miller is pastor of Columbus Mennonite Church.