Where does that coffee come from? What does that chocolate bar have to do with slavery? How do our everyday choices affect the global economy and human rights? Julie Clawson wrote a book on these very things.
Carol Howard Merritt talks to Julie Clawson about her unique perspective on the Emergent Church as well as her book, Everyday Justice. Then Carol talks with Ryan Kemp-Pappan about what Julie had to say.
This is cross-posted from the RevGalBlogPals site.
This is, on one level, a very extraordinary story. In Disrupted: On Fighting Death and Keeping Faith, Julie Anderson Love battles a brain tumor, something that most of us will not have to undergo, especially in the third decade of life. Love moves us with medical accuracy, spiritual awareness, and emotional depth through the painstaking decisions and healing.
On another level, however, Love’s story is an ordinary one. She is an Associate Pastor, she clashes with the Interim Senior Pastor, and he retaliates. Let me sound the spoiler alert here—if you have not read the book and want all of it to be a mystery, you can stop reading.
The heart of our discussion resides in the fact that the church fired Love while she was fighting for her life. Yes, you read that correctly. They took away her insurance and her livelihood while she had a brain tumor. When they should have been bringing her casseroles, flowers, and cards crafted by Sunday school children, they brought her a pink slip.
When Love’s pastoral counselor recounted the devastation that she had been through that year, he was pretty sure that the brain tumor was less traumatic than the church letting her go in the midst of it all.
As stark and traumatic as Love’s story is, what’s even more difficult is that we hear about this stuff happening all of the time. Something similar has probably happened to many of our dear readers. When it does, we are told to be quiet, gloss over it, and move on as quickly as possible. Most of us do. Then we try to negotiate a new job, entering another church, becoming a chaplain, or dropping out of the clergy ranks altogether. But does all of this playing nice help in the long run?
I don’t think so. I mean, it helps in our particular circumstance (and looking after yourself is the most important thing in these devastating situations). The opportunities for secure employment increase when we don’t make much of a fuss.
But how does it help clergy in general when we constantly cover up the sins of our congregations in order for us to come out less scathed? I think we need to find creative ways to be able to break the silence that so often enshrouds our positions.
We all know stories that make us shudder–women who have been sexually harassed, fired without cause, or paid unfairly. How can we tell these stories and still protect our positions?
Reading this book made me thankful that Julie Anderson Love was able to break through that code of silence under which we work. She told her story, with courage and honesty. She did not shy away from all of those secrets that we often have to keep. And for that, we all owe her.
I put together a guide so that congregations could have a tool to study Reframing Hope. It’s a PDF, and it’s about 50 pages with lots of exercises. I’ve gotten good feedback on it.
I’ll probably end up selling it for a buck eventually, but until I do, you’re welcome to download it here.
Also, I’m over at The Hardest Question, discussing a couple of the lectionary passages this week. You’re welcome to visit the site, and we can chat over there.
The next episode of GCR is up! And… I know it’s been a long time. We’ve had so many transitions… but it was fun to talk to Rachel about her book Writing to God.
Play – Rachel Hackenberg – God Complex Radio – S4E7 or you can find it at iTunes.
I’ve been delving into the Church in the 21st Century subject for a few blog posts now. So, far I’ve set up the background, because we can’t imagine what a church will look like until we get an idea of what its participants and landscape will look like. I’ve sorted through things with a generational lens—especially looking toward younger generations.
I often get push-back when I look at things generationally. Many people feel old or irrelevant when we focus our attentions on younger adults. Often people will point out the burgeoning church in the retirement community. I know growth and wonderful ministry can happen with older adults, and I would never want to diminish that.
But, as I mention a lot on this blog, the average age of the PCUSA is over 60, and the average age of most denominational churches is almost 60. Older adults are not neglected in our churches. They are doing well. Our leadership is made up of older adults, and those who have most of the power are older. They are getting plenty of attention and voice. Most of our denominations are dedicated to them. It doesn’t hurt to shift our attentions every once in a while.
We’ve set the landscape: we looked at work, family structures, finances and ethnic make-up. Now, we need to ask, what sort of church would work in a new generation? What is our vision for the 21st Century? There is no one answer to this question, of course. It depends on each context, and there are all sorts of models out there. We’ll start with transforming existing congregations.
Some congregations will revive. I currently serve a church that was up for a vote to close its doors about 30 years ago. But they didn’t. Now they’re a healthy, growing congregation. We’re a regular church, for sure. With all sorts of regular church problems. But Western is a good guide for transformation. We’re very traditional, with pipe organ music and written liturgies. How did we turn around?
The older generation let go of power. They had an older generation of leaders who allowed younger leaders to take charge in significant ways. Without that key, the whole thing probably would not have worked, but the older generation gave over real power in pastoral leadership and committees (even while they were underwriting most of the budget). They didn’t just expect a younger generation to do everything their way. They even allowed a theological shift.
They focused their ministry outside of their doors. Western began to serve the homeless in their neighborhood. With Miriam’s Kitchen as well as other outreaches, the church began to look outside of its doors, and the community began to notice them.
A middle governing body I visited challenged each church to ask itself, “If your church closed tomorrow, what would your community miss the most?” If the church couldn’t answer that question, then they became committed to finding a ministry that meant something to their neighborhood. All sorts of things could come out of this–community gardens, arts programs, music support, feeding programs, or homeless shelters. Traditionally, churches have flourished in all of these areas.
They focused on a new generation. When a campus ministry at a nearby university was about to lose its funding, Western reached out and housed the ministry. This made them focus on the surrounding campuses and the needs of students around them. They didn’t focus on “young families,” but began their outreach to emerging generations much earlier—with college students, grad students, and singles. It was a loving investment that paid off, even in our transient D.C. culture. Now, the college students are starting careers. Some who are in careers are getting married. Some who are married are having children. But whatever a particular family looks like–whether it’s a nuclear family or an urban tribe–we try to make sure that all are welcome.
I’m a pastor in Washington, D.C. The job is not at all what I supposed it would be. When I lived outside of the beltway and looked in, I saw a group of power-hungry, egomaniac talking heads, yelling at television cameras or rabid crowds.
I didn’t expect what I encountered—a group of idealistic individuals, who love God and love their neighbors. They have allowed their dreams of what the world ought to be seep into what they do each day. They work for nonprofits (or as they say around here, NGOs, non-governmental organizations). They lobby for the environment, lead with teachers unions, and work on the Hill. I don’t serve one of those congregations where the superstar politicians go (there are those churches), but I serve the one where people might be hanging out with a guest at Miriam’s Kitchen on one day and affecting policy on the next.
Of course, we have a thread of ego-driven power-mongering in all of us as well. We are a church, after all. But for the most part, after pastoring this congregation, I’ve learned a bit more about day-to-day politics and the people who are rightly known as “civil servants.”
I had a chance to think about this a lot this weekend. Not only was it the 10th anniversary of September 11, but I’m also participating in the Patheos Book Club Round Table discussion on Alisa Harris’ book, Raised Right: How I Untangled My Faith from Politics. I loved reading how Harris went from Hillary bashing at a goat pageant to burning thrift-store bras as a feminist protest at her conservative college. So much of her story resonated with my own.
As I sat, consuming the pages, I wondered, What now? I may be over-reaching in my analysis, but I dare say that we are watching the coming of power of many women who learned the ways of politics through the pro-life movement.
Think about it… we’ve got Sarah Palin. We’ve got Michelle Bachmann. We’ve got a whole bevy of Mama Grizzlies. You may scoff, but they became solid political figures as a result of their activism. Liberals scratch their heads, wondering why so many Republican candidates are wearing power skirts, while those who fought for women’s rights still seems to be overwhelmed with old white guys. But those of us who grew up in the Religious Right hotbed know exactly why (and if you’re wondering, read Harris’s book).
I’m a full-grown, full-blown progressive now. Palin and Bachmann make me feel like I gulped down a glass of milk before realizing it was six-months out of date. But I was raised looking up to women like them, and I often wonder, If I were still conservative, would I be running for Congress right now? The truth is… conservatives are better at developing young leadership than progressives…. They’re even better at developing their young women.
Which brings me to my earlier point about my congregation, about the everyday work. Harris’s book didn’t make me want to give up on politics, or even completely untangle my faith from politics (even though they are now woven together in a different way now). But it did make me realize that if we represent a new generation of political creatures, then we need to roll up our sleeves and get on with the daily grind. Not just in rallies and protests, not just in posters and sound-bytes, but also in day-to-day justice. In being honest journalists and courageous pastors. In making sure that our daughters hear a different message.
One bit of the book keeps rolling around in my mind, and I find myself wrestling with Harris’s words:
Unless you are smuggling soup to the Jews in your attic, I think a political act can’t be an act of love. It can be a good act, even a noble and heroic, but love is something that takes place behind a barricade; it happened in the breaking of bread and the passing of cups. Political love is theoretical, directed at some vague “humanity,” and Jesus didn’t say to love humanity but to love your neighbor.
I suppose that I agree more with what Cornel West famously said: “Never forget that justice is what love looks like in public.” I know that politics is messy, but I also believe that individual acts of love are only going to go so far. As one hand feeds the hungry, the other needs to be working on the larger scale.
Putting energy into helping one homeless person does not keep you from defending the poor in the political sphere. Loving my daughter does not keep me from fighting for women’s rights. Recycling one can does not keep me from working to make sure regulations are in place so that environmental degradation does not consume our planet. One action informs the other, and we need to keep doing both.
It is a profound moment for a new generation of politics, especially as we learn to engage our faith in the public sphere. And reading Harris’s story is a good reminder that our faith should never be tightly wound up into one political party. And as we engage our faith in different ways, we can remember that being involved in politics means that we must keep thinking for ourselves.
I’ve been in a conversation about the post-evangelical movement. During the conversation, someone asked me to blog about post-evangelical women’s issues for their blog. This is what I wrote. While the post is about PEWs, it’s relevant to Mainline situations as well. For those who read this blog regularly, forgive me for sounding like a broken record on so much of this!
Right now, in the US, many of us wrestle with the Evangelical movement in which we were raised. There are a lot of reasons for that. Our questions are theological, as we struggle with the atonement, the Kingdom of God, or Hell. We ask sociological questions about the role of women, LGBTQs, social media and politics. And philosophical and generational issues arise regularly. We’re in this exciting moment of turmoil right now, and we can realize we make real differences.
For me, the questions (or lack of questions) around gender have been interesting. I find myself wanting to explain what it’s like to grow up as a conservative Evangelical woman and how difficult the transition into leadership is from that place. I work a lot in the conference world, and my issues often arise there. I hear the whispers that men don’t. So, even though I’m at risk of sounding like a bad Cosmo article, I decided to write 7 Things Guys Need to Know about PEWs (Post-Evangelical Women). Basically, it’s the stuff we’re saying or dm’ing when you’re not there.
1) We were told to keep silent in church. Sometimes it was overt and other times it was subtle—a youth or Campus Crusade for Christ director buddies up with the cool football guys, takes them to lunch, and focuses on their leadership potential while the young women were left stranded. To go from “you must be silent” to finding your voice can be a long, arduous process.
2) We’re not welcome at every table. Nobody’s a blatant sexist (well, almost nobody…), so we have to look for cues. When a PEW sees the leadership of an organization or the splashy landing page for a conference, and we notice that the gender ratio is 14 to 1, it causes panic. We think, I thought this movement was different! I thought I was welcome here! It may be that we are welcome, and the leadership thought that having one female voice was good enough. But, for PEWs who grew up listening to “women should keep silent,” major gender inequity is a clear signal that the table is off-limits to us.
3) We don’t want to hear whining about forced quotas. We’ve heard the tiresome response: “We don’t do quotas. This movement isn’t about counting and making sure that there’s a particular number of non-white males.” I’m sorry, but there’s no way around it. There will be no transformation in women’s leadership unless women are in leadership.
4) PEWs hear a defensive response as “you’re not welcome.” Sometimes on Twitter or blogs, a person might point out an appalling gender ratio. The PEWs who bring it up get the smack-down. I’ve been the recipient of coordinated pummeling twice by organizations who care about gender issues. I don’t understand why they did it, other than defensiveness. Ironically both boot parties were orchestrated behind the scenes by other women. If you care, please stop.
5) There are enough women. I’ve been hosting a podcast for a couple of years, and I regularly receive emails from men who ask to be on the show. I rarely get them from women. Women may be less willing or less able to self-promote. We’re harder to find. But we’re here. We’re writing, speaking, and preaching.
6) Please refrain from using “organic leadership” or “meritocracy” as an excuse. When the subject of PEW leadership comes up, we hear, “Our leadership grows up organically. If women want to be involved, they need to produce.” If organic growth or meritocracy is a reason for not having women in leadership, you have to realize that for post-evangelical women, we’ve have had weed-killer sprayed on us for 20 years. You’ve got to spread the manure to all the corners of the garden for a couple of decades before you can expect women to naturally grow into leadership.
7) Money Matters. Forgive me, but there’s no delicate way of saying this. I’ve spoken at conferences where I have as many credentials as the guy standing next to me. Sometimes more. I’ve gotten paid fifteen times less than he does. You know what makes things more awkward? The conference leaders congratulate themselves for flattening leadership, overturning hierarchies, or unbinding the church. The guy next to me is known for his hard-core social justice work. I’m here to tell you… no one’s overturning hierarchies at a conference where a woman gets seven cents to a man’s dollar.
I was at a Presbyterian celebration, when I heard a familiar sound piercing the air: bagpipes. And then, just as thunder and lightening travel together, I saw a sight that has also become very commonplace since I’ve become Presbyterian: men in kilts. I probably don’t have to tell you the color of those men. We all know.
During many Presbyterian festivities, we roll out the men in kilts. It’s a celebration of our roots, an acknowledgement of where we came from.
It can also be rather odd. I know of Presbyterian pastors who preach with a slight Scottish brogue—when they’re not from Scotland. I guess they have the idea that’s what a good Presbyterian preacher is supposed to sound like.
When I first became Presbyterian, I was often asked what my tartan pattern was. I don’t have a tartan pattern, so that question thoroughly confused me. When I finally understood what people were asking, it made me feel out of place, like I didn’t quite belong in my new denomination. As the years went on, I would hear the ethnic/Presbyterian jokes. For example, any time that glitter is being hoarded in the Sunday school classrooms like it’s as valuable as gold dust, I’m reminded that we’re penny-pinchers. We’re Scottish, after all.
In actuality, I can’t think of more than ten Scottish church members. And that’s counting all three churches that I pastored. We have roots in Scotland. But we also have roots in Korea. And we have some roots in the Global South. My friend Tony Aja reminds me that “Today, there are more Presbyterians in Mexico and Guatemala than there are in the US. There are more Presbyterians in Korea than there are in the rest of the world.”
Now why would I bring this up? Is it to be a kill-joy? Why would I care about a denomination celebrating its history? Do I have something against the Scottish? Do I have something against white men? Of course not. It’s just that we need to understand the message that we are giving to a new generation when we portray our denomination as purely Scottish. We think of this. When we choose to lift up one racial ethnic group over and above others, we are giving a clear message to a new generation: You don’t belong here.
You see, after the Hart Cellar Act of 1965, we began to welcome new immigration from non-European nations. This population increase was great for the growth of our economy in the past, and it will be great for our economy in the future. It’s added an incredible richness to our cultural and religious landscape. And it means that white people will be the minority in my daughter’s generation.
That doesn’t bode well for a denomination that’s 94% white. Things could change though. This could also be an extremely important opportunity for us as a denomination. After all, immigrant congregations are growing the fastest in our denomination.
But I have to say… right now… we’re kind of blowing it. How? What are we doing wrong? How could we fix it?
First, we need to take a good look at our ordination exams and wipe out the cultural bias.
What cultural bias? Well, I’m a white woman who made solid grades in seminary, and I failed one exam four three times (I changed this… upon reflection, I took it four times, but passed the last time). I don’t think I’ve ever failed an exam in my life. As I was preparing, people kept saying, “Write this for a 70-year-old Presbyterian. How would she read this?” That was a big enough cultural hurdle for me to fumble all over. I can’t imagine if I was a smart Latina trying to write the answers.
As we see from this report, non-white candidates have a much more difficult time getting through the ordination exams.
The PCC is deeply concerned that pass rates of racial-ethnic candidates on the ordination examinations are significantly lower than those of white candidates. Pass rates of white candidates in recent years on each examination have ranged between 65% and 77%. Pass rates of other candidates have averaged between 27-54%.
Second, we can to find a way to welcome Reformed pastors who have immigrated to our country. Often a Presbyterian minister has gone through all of the necessary steps to complete the ordination process in his or her own country. Then, when he or she seeks to be a part of the Presbyterian Church (USA), we do not allow that person to be a minister in full standing. Why? It’s because our ordination standards are different. For instance, we require a Master’s degree while another country might require an undergraduate degree. (It seems to me that four years of preparation is better than three.) Or we require Greek and Hebrew, while another country does not. (How many pastors do you know who are still using their Greek and Hebrew skills?)
Third, we can begin to welcome the immigrant communities already in our midst. I have heard an estimate that if we opened our arms to the immigrant communities that have already formed around us—the ones that already call themselves Presbyterian—we would have one million new members in our denomination.
Fourth, we can pay attention to the important shifts occurring with second- or third-generation immigrants. Right now, our progressive congregation is welcoming many wonderful second-generation Korean Presbyterians. We also see amazing female Korean clergy in our denominations. The needs and gifts of second/third generation immigrants are often different from their parents. How can we encourage their voices and learn from them?
Our country is seeing an incredible shift in ethnic makeup, as a new majority emerges. If we can embrace those changes, we can be ready for a vital church for generations to come.
Although I haven’t been here, I’ve been at a few other places… It is my dream that someday I will have a site that will automatically pick up the feeds from the other places I blog, and put them here. Until that dream becomes a reality… I have to keep up my erratic cross-posting.
I’m at Clayfire Curator, talking about Liberating: the Sermon.
At Duke’s Call and Response blog, we’re discussing the relationship between seminaries and churches. What can we do to strengthen that bond? Also Daniel Kirk has picked up the discussion on his blog.
At the Huffington, I reflected on Amy Winehouse’s death and talked about the Columbian Free Trade Agreement.
In other places… Bo Sanders has been hosting an interesting discussion on the use of terms evangelical/liberal/progressive.
Also, my mom just gave me a heads-up on this lovely eulogy that Rob Kirby, the Senior Editor of Beliefnet wrote about my dad.
That’s an eclectic list of topics…. Hopefully there will be something there to interest you!
I will be back to the Church in the 21st Century thoughts soon… I have been in the midst of writing in other places. But, if you’re wanting to read more about it, check out the inspired thoughts of Deb Avery.
Tribal Church 