Grace and Truth: A word from pastors

In my last piece for The Mennonite, I wrote about my brother Jim. I called our denomination to expand its welcome to include our LGBTQ sisters and brothers. I invited us to follow the rule of love rather than the rule of law.

Many of you responded. With only a handful of exceptions, all who responded did so kindly. Ordinarily, I dwell on the exceptions, like those who treated my brother like an issue to be debated, or who assured me that he was a sinner in hell.

I’m one who can hear a dozen affirmations and one complaint, then spend all my energy focusing on the complaint. But not this time.

What continues to bless me is that most of you were graceful and loving in your responses. I’m not sure why I’m so surprised that I was treated with such care. You are my sisters and brothers, whether we know each other or not. How else would you respond but kindly, even if you disagree with me?

I’ve been in the church long enough, though, to know better than to count on such kindness. Sad to say, in my experience we Christians can be just as mean and hard-hearted as anyone else.

As I sent the article off to be published, I braced myself for the hostile onslaught and was amazed when it didn’t come.

How we begin a difficult conversation matters. Too often, we begin with intellectual arguments and proofs. We marshal arguments and bombard each other with them in hopes that our enemies will submit and leave the field. The military language is intentional. We nonviolent Mennonites regularly make war on each other over matters of faith and practice. No blood is shed, but hearts are wounded, and so are relationships.

In my experience, conversations begun that way inevitably devolve into battles with winners and losers. We treat the lives of people as issues to be debated. We speak dogmatically rather than pastorally.

I believe we do better to begin the conversation with our stories. Mine was about losing a brother.

Most of you began your responses by expressing sympathy. Some went on to disagree strongly with my theology and my call for inclusion. But that disagreement felt different than it might have without your acknowledgment of my brother’s death. I could receive your disagreement more easily because you began with a word of kindness.

In recognizing my loss, you built a bridge between us instead of a wall. This reminded me that even those of you who disagree with me are my sisters and brothers. And remembering that we are sisters and brothers is essential if we are ever to learn to live together with all our differences.

You may disagree, but it seems clear to me that one way or another our denomination will find a way to make room for those congregations called by the Spirit to welcome and bless our LGBTQ sisters and brothers.

I believe the same is true about making room for congregations and pastors called to bless same-sex unions. When that will happen, only God knows. How it will happen, it seems to me, is up to us.

Will we continue to debate across the walls, shouting Bible verses and theological positions at each other, hoping to wipe out or push out those on the other side once and for all? Maybe we will. If we do, I don’t hold much hope for us as a church.

Or will we begin by telling stories, building bridges and in other ways doing our best to remember who we are to each other in Christ? If we do, even though the way forward will be difficult, I believe we will come out on the other side together.

Not long ago, I would have seen no alternative to the shouting and the building of walls. We are so good at both.

Then I told you a story. And you were kind, even if you didn’t like my conclusion. You helped me remember who we are at our best. You proved to me that we Mennonites really can agree to disagree in love.

Ron Adams is pastor of Madison (Wis.) Mennonite Church.