27
Ten years ago, the privilege of becoming a FASPE Fellow changed the way I thought about the role of a pastor leading divided communities. What’s more, that was a season of my life in which I struggled with my call to pastoral ministry. I was a Clergy Fellow and nearing the end of my seminary training while my United Methodist Church was tearing itself apart. That tearing carried on for years to come.
I write these words from the pastor’s office at Parkway United Methodist Church in Sugar Land, Texas. I have spent most of the decade since I wrote my original FASPE reflection as a United Methodist pastor serving local congregations in the suburbs and rural areas around Houston. In other words, despite all the reasons to avoid the turmoil of the church that made me who I am, I still felt called to and chose ministry in this church.
The work has been difficult but good. I can say with absolute confidence that ministry has blessed me with more gray hairs than when I wrote the words you are about to read. I am also certain that I was a better writer when my life revolved around seminary research papers. But in rediscovering the words of my reflection, I can see that the convictions I gained from FASPE have been borne out through what pastoral ministry demands of peacemakers in divided and violent times.
In my original piece, I reflected on two ways that German churches processed, justified, or denied the realities of Nazi atrocities: 1) by supporting rising hostilities towards Jews through either active participation or quiet indifference, and 2) by retreating from suffering and injustice into detached theology. Both remain alive and well across the spectrum of American churches.
Whether with respect to immigrants, gay and trans people, or those with religious or political difference, there are many churches that carry on the tradition of being told to love God and neighbor and respond by asking “and who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:25 – 27). An undeniable legacy of the German churches and clergy is that they participated in the “othering” of Jews in Nazi Germany—a convincing of self and others that Jews were not worthy of the same humanness, goodness, and grace as themselves. That these men, women, and children were more threats than neighbors. Churches in America cannot and should not carry on this legacy by prioritizing their own institutions nor the political comfort of the many over the suffering of the few. While they are often used to speak of acts of service and kindness, the words of Jesus cut both ways: “I assure you that when you have done it for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you have done it for me” (Matthew 25:40). Loud, well-funded groups are hard at work every day to convince us that we are not one another’s neighbor and that we do not belong to one another. This must be resisted on all fronts.
The second of these, the retreat into a theology detached from injustice and the suffering of others, is also alive and well. Having nearly a decade of ministry behind me, I feel that I can refine this reflection in two ways. The first is to be specific: clergy are more likely to retreat into a theology detached from injustice or the suffering of others than the people in their churches. This is because they are often trained how to do so in academic institutions led by people who have much more experience formatting
Ten years ago, the privilege of becoming a FASPE Fellow changed the way I thought about the role of a pastor leading divided communities. What’s more, that was a season of my life in which I struggled with my call to pastoral ministry. I was a Clergy Fellow and nearing the end of my seminary training while my United Methodist Church was tearing itself apart. That tearing carried on for years to come.
I write these words from the pastor’s office at Parkway United Methodist Church in Sugar Land, Texas. I have spent most of the decade since I wrote my original FASPE reflection as a United Methodist pastor serving local congregations in the suburbs and rural areas around Houston. In other words, despite all the reasons to avoid the turmoil of the church that made me who I am, I still felt called to and chose ministry in this church.
The work has been difficult but good. I can say with absolute confidence that ministry has blessed me with more gray hairs than when I wrote the words you are about to read. I am also certain that I was a better writer when my life revolved around seminary research papers. But in rediscovering the words of my reflection, I can see that the convictions I gained from FASPE have been borne out through what pastoral ministry demands of peacemakers in divided and violent times.
In my original piece, I reflected on two ways that German churches processed, justified, or denied the realities of Nazi atrocities: 1) by supporting rising hostilities towards Jews through either active participation or quiet indifference, and 2) by retreating from suffering and injustice into detached theology. Both remain alive and well across the spectrum of American churches.
Whether with respect to immigrants, gay and trans people, or those with religious or political difference, there are many churches that carry on the tradition of being told to love God and neighbor and respond by asking “and who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:25 – 27). An undeniable legacy of the German churches and clergy is that they participated in the “othering” of Jews in Nazi Germany—a convincing of self and others that Jews were not worthy of the same humanness, goodness, and grace as themselves. That these men, women, and children were more threats than neighbors. Churches in America cannot and should not carry on this legacy by prioritizing their own institutions nor the political comfort of the many over the suffering of the few. While they are often used to speak of acts of service and kindness, the words of Jesus cut both ways: “I assure you that when you have done it for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you have done it for me” (Matthew 25:40). Loud, well-funded groups are hard at work every day to convince us that we are not one another’s neighbor and that we do not belong to one another. This must be resisted on all fronts.
The second of these, the retreat into a theology detached from injustice and the suffering of others, is also alive and well. Having nearly a decade of ministry behind me, I feel that I can refine this reflection in two ways. The first is to be specific: clergy are more likely to retreat into a theology detached from injustice or the suffering of others than the people in their churches. This is because they are often trained how to do so in academic institutions led by people who have much more experience formatting