Is there hope for PC(USA) evangelicals today?
A personal reflection on the state of evangelicalism in the denomination and what lies ahead
By Jodi Craiglow
Bill’s Facebook message stung me like a slap in the face. “Vote for Dismissal short version: 412 votes were cast; 274 required for 2/ 3 majority . . . vote was 266 for dismissal and 146 against. Motion FAILS. Time to assess and prayerfully go forward.” His congregation’s months-long process of prayer and discernment had, in one round of ballots, come to a screeching halt. And that put him, as a member of the pastoral staff, into an especially precarious position. Although they lacked the supermajority required by denominational polity to be dismissed, the simple fact remained: most of the congregation didn’t want to be a part of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) anymore.
Bill, of course, isn’t his real name; denominational politics for a pastor can be treacherous waters, to say the least. And Bill is not alone.
After three years in his new presbytery, George was asked to assist in assembly worship by leading the pastoral prayer. To his shock, he learned that he would have to submit the manuscript a week beforehand to be screened for “appropriate” language. “They trust me to act as the spiritual mentor for hundreds of people,” he says. “They don’t trust me to talk to God?”
I myself stood in the ballroom of the Dallas Intercontinental Hotel last year, heartily worshiping with hundreds of other like-minded Presbyterians at the Fellowship/ECO National Gathering (ECO is the Covenant Order of Evangelical Presbyterians that split off from the PC[USA] in 2012 and formed its own denomination). As my spirit overflowed with the blessing of the moment, I prayed, “God, can’t I just make the transition over to ECO? It would be so easy—these are my people!” And I heard back, in no uncertain terms, “No. You’re staying right where you are.”
To put it mildly, it’s not easy being a PC(USA) evangelical these days. Fellow evangelicals from other traditions take a look at our denominational passport and shoot us sideways glances. Non-evangelicals inside our denomination either don’t trust us or don’t know what to do with us. Our numbers are dwindling, and in this era of social polarization and political feuding, we tend to be known predominantly by our stereotypes. (I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t wish the phrase ‘gun-toting, gay-hating Bible-basher’ on anybody.) And with the seismic shifts of the new Form of Government in the denomination’s Book of Order, the ordination and marriage of people in same-sex relationships, and divestment from US companies participating in Israel’s occupation of Palestine, many among our number are still experiencing theological vertigo.
And, to be honest, we’re afraid. In a lot of ways, we’re still up in the air when it comes to what’s going on in the denomination—we’re not quite sure where we’ll land, or if there’ll even be a place for us to land when we get there. Scores of our like-minded friends and colleagues have already joined other denominations; while we rejoice at their new opportunities for ministry and mission, we deeply mourn the loss of their companionship and accountability. (And, in some cases, we feel betrayed that they didn’t ask us if we wanted to come along.) For better or worse, our tendency toward traditionalism typically leaves us stymied when we encounter expressions of faith and worship that differ significantly from what we’re accustomed to—which means that we’re often raising our guard at the very moment we’d be most blessed by vulnerability.
And although we’ve been assured that it won’t happen, a number of us (often prompted by skeptical souls within our ranks) are white-knuckle terrified that same-sex marriage will be “kenyonized” (a reference to Walter Wynn Kenyon, who was denied ordination in 1974 because he said he would not ordain women), forcing our pastors to violate their conscience in order to uphold ecclesial writ or what some perceive as a matter of justice. The formerly-firebrand anger of many of our “old guard” has cooled into grim resignation and bitter withdrawal, and the “eternal optimism” of our up-and-comers is starting to rub thin in patches.
But yet, we stay. Some of us by choice; others by necessity. We continue to gather in our respective houses of worship week by week. We keep having potlucks and rummage sales. And we still reach out to the crazy lady in the fifth row and the grumpy neighbor who wants nothing to do with us. We welcome the Christ child every December, and we rejoice in the resurrection every spring. We pray for our brothers and sisters around the world, and we look for ways to bring the good news into our community. Many of us continue to engage in the broader councils of the church, as well. We’re still trying to figure out what it means to be evangelical Presbyterians in the 21st century . . . and, more often than we’re probably willing to admit, we’re making it up as we go along.
When I asked Bill to reflect on his denominational experience—he’s served as a General Assembly commissioner and attended a number of national gatherings—he told me that he’s begun to understand in a new way the call of Daniel, the biblical prophet taken into exile by Babylon and eventually thrown to lions.
Bill’s not alone, either; the rhetoric of exile has been a common theme among mainline evangelicals over the past few years. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, being on the other side of this metaphor stings—having one’s faith tradition compared to Babylon is unflattering any way you look at it. And if we’re honest in our reading, we find that those who have been exiled were just as much to blame for the way things turned out as were those who took them into exile. By claiming affinity with the “deportees,” we evangelicals dare not assume in any way we’re innocent martyrs.
The comfort in the cadence of exile, however, comes from knowing that home awaits, even though we haven’t reached it yet. Comfort also comes from realizing that this season of dislocation will help us to gain a clearer vision of who God is and who God intends us to be. We may assume the land is lying scorched and fallow, but even now seeds of hope are germinating.
And what seeds are these? For some, they’re found in the ongoing mission of the broader church. Lawrence Sharrett, an inquirer in Holston Presbytery in Tennessee, and his wife are excited about partnering with the Antioch Partners, a Presbyterian missionary-sending agency, as they discern God’s call to serve as missionaries in Eastern Europe. For Ben Sloan, senior pastor of Lake Murray Presbyterian Church in Chapin, South Carolina, excitement comes as his church collaborates with other local congregations in the GOoDWorks program (assisting community neighbors who have financial, structural, physical, or emotional setbacks), joins in Trinity Presbytery’s migrant ministry, and travels to South America every year to partner with its sister church in Iquitos, Peru.
Others have sown seeds of hope in the tilled soil of denominational upheaval. “We need to be headed toward a period of chaos,” says Seth Normington, pastor at Linden Presbyterian Church in Michigan. “We need to give people room to run around in that ‘big tent,’ and then after some drifts, we can step back and work out our own advocacy at the congregational, presbytery, synod, and General Assembly levels. The time for national denominational positions is over. Nobody outside the church really cares about our statements, anyway. Right now, the PC(USA) is like the United Nations on steroids.”
Indeed, there’s an increasing belief among evangelicals (and among many friends on the other side of the aisle as well) that our traditional understanding of denominationalism needs to undergo a substantial revision. And for the visionaries among our numbers, hope comes in imagining what God’s plan for our future together might look like.
But most of all, and without reservation, our hope comes in the recognition that times of insecurity and instability force us to dig deeper and anchor into the Rock. This past week as I’ve been fussing over this article (and believe me, I’ve fussed), one hymn has been stuck on perpetual repeat in my head:
My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand! All other ground is sinking sand;
All other ground is sinking sand.
We evangelicals may be tired. We may be frustrated. We may feel like we’re adrift on stormy seas. But we find our mooring when we remember one simple fact: it’s not about us. It’s not about progressives (who may be finding new hope in the denomination) or conservatives. It’s not about ecclesial configurations or denominational affiliations. It’s not about the resolutions we pass or the minutes we keep. Our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. People will disappoint; structures will crumble. Christ is our hope.
The Fellowship
community
Presbyterians seeking fellowship with other evangelicals can join the Fellowship Community, “a network of churches and leaders called together to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ”: fellowship.community
As Robert Austell, pastor of Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church in Charlotte, North Carolina, wrote in a 2012 blog post, “There is nothing I would deem good or bad, faithful or unfaithful, Jesus-centered or wayward as Hell, in the denomination that I don’t also encounter in my own congregation and my own life. And God keeps showing up, stirring us up, calling us back, cleaning us up, and sending us out under the Word, sealed in the Spirit, and following the Son.”
Jodi Craiglow is an adjunct professor and PhD student at Trinity International University, a ruling elder at First Presbyterian Church in Libertyville, Illinois, and a curriculum developer for the Synod of Mid-America’s Theocademy.
