For Such a Time as This: Hope for the UMC

I've been thinking for quite some time how to write this: a blog entry about my experience of General Conference. Though my thoughts are not complete and I am not nearly finished processing all of my experiences, this was an assignment for our General Conference class. I share it here, because I believe that it has value outside of that context. I know that I will continue to process my experiences long after this time and that this is not a complete articulation of my GC2012 journey. What I do know however, is that I have hope. I have hope in the UMC and in the work that is beginning from the #dreamUMC Twitter community. I have hope because of the ways that I was touched and the ways that our work touched the hearts of others. And more than all that, I remain faithful to my calling as a United Methodist, to become clergy in my beloved denomination. I will not leave, but I will stay. Perhaps I have been called to this beloved church, "for such a time as this."

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With General Conference now finished, United Methodists all across the connection in both the United States and across the world are reflecting on the actions that occurred in Tampa during those two weeks. Some rejoice because the legislation they sought to pass was adopted, and others mourn because the legislation they sought adoption for was rejected. In the gathering of the 2012 General Conference, observers, both online and in person were able to watch the church work, or fail to work as it may have been, while trying to grasp the complexities of what was going on. For this year’s conference, 988 delegates gathered together. They prayed together, they worshiped together; they worked together, debated one another, and became physically and emotionally drained together. From the outside looking in, one might describe General Conference as a grueling process by which the United Methodist Church’s polity, social principles, structure, and witness is born. And, like childbirth, this was not an easy process for those who gathered together in Tampa.

The 2012 General Conference had a great deal of legislation on its plate. Significant plans for restructuring the church were on the table, from multiple organizations, caucus groups, and people. Controversial legislation concerning a woman’s right to choose and full inclusion of LGBTQI persons in the church, the removal of security of appointment, lifetime tenure for Bishops, and numerous other petitions were topics of major concern for many as they gathered in Tampa. Each of these significant pieces of legislation had the opportunity to redefine who the people called Methodist are, both in how they identify themselves as a mainline Christian denomination and also in terms of how the ally (or choose not to ally) themselves with groups of people and ideologies. This General Conference, facing the impossible amount of legislation before it, did its very best to adequately address all of these issues, yet in the end, it failed to have a final, full body vote on each item. Ultimately, a rule was passed which allowed the General Conference the freedom of not completing all their work, in order to focus their attention on a few key pieces of legislation. From my perspective in the visitors seating, I had the opportunity to watch the General Conference work. This being my first General Conference, I entered with the preparation from our coursework and my own thoughts and reflections on what it might be like. Upon arriving in Tampa, I had prepared myself for intense politicking, bureaucratic nightmares, caucusing (both positive and negative,) and a variety of other meetings, gatherings, and alliances. Yet, when I arrived on Saturday evening, thinking I had prepared myself for the experience I was about to have, I found that I was very wrong. I very quickly learned that General Conference is not a place for the weak of heart. It is a place where passionate United Methodists, from many places in the world, with many differing theologies, political ideologies, and so on, gather together, trying to shape the church. It was United Methodist polity at its finest. The things I love about it - the connectionalism and the ways that individuals are grouped together with the likeminded and those who were not likeminded and asked to do God’s work. But there were also the ugly sides of connectionalism present – those, on both sides of the aisle, who speak and act in ways that are painful to others, and the times when our Methodist principles found themselves to be on trial. These times were painful and difficult, and certainly unexpected, at least for me.

Though I am still processing all of my experiences from my days spent in Tampa, there are some experiences that rise above others in my mind. One such experience was my work with the Common Witness Coalition. On Tuesday, while sitting in a plenary session, I noticed a small group of persons from the Coalition, wearing their rainbow stoles, holding signs, and marching silently around the outside of the bar. These persons held signs identifying themselves as members of the LGBTQI community or the community’s allies. The marched silently, reminding the delegates that harm was being done to this community as a result of the actions of previous General Conferences, as well as this one. While watching this happen, I knew one thing: I had to join them. I could not sit silently, watching beloved children of God bear their hurt and pain and not stand to be with them. I desperately wanted to walk the journey alongside of them. And so I did.

Initially, when I left my seat, I did so because I believe that God loves and cares for all people, just the way they are. I also support the LGBTQI community and seek to work for justice and full inclusion of this community within our beloved, United Methodist Church. When I joined the demonstrators, I had no theological reasons for joining them, I simply responded to the tug at my heart that asked me to go. And I did. At the conclusion of the demonstrator’s time in plenary hall, I followed them out into the lobby and listened to their words, debriefing, and reflections on their activity. At the conclusion of this time together, a few announcements were made (what time they would be meeting the next day, etc.) and then they asked for a volunteer to pray. No one spoke for a few moments, and suddenly, out of my mouth came, “I will!” And so I prayed, for our beloved United Methodist Church and for the people gathered around the circle, in the hall, and all over the world. I prayed for unity and for justice, for inclusion and for the remembrance that we are all God’s children. Then, my friends and I parted ways for the day, with hugs and smiles and thanks for those of us who did not remain in our seats. What I did not realize when I left my seat that day, was that I had joined a new community and that God had put me in a place where I was confronted with my own voice and presence at General Conference. Why on earth am I here in this place? And what good will I possibly do while I am here? Those questions ran through my head as I returned to my seat for the rest of the session. God was not finished with me yet and I had just begun my true work at General Conference.

Later that afternoon, the delegates entertained a heartbreaking discussion about an addition to the Preamble of the Social Principles. This addition, which was eventually amended, affirmed that God’s grace was available to all persons. However, it came with a significant amount of debate and hurtful language. Additionally, the debate also challenged United Methodist and Wesleyan theology at its core. Much of the debate focused on whether or not God’s grace was indeed available to all and whether prevenient grace was possible. Sadly, as I watched from the visitors seating, I began to realize that everyone in the room did, not share some of the foundational aspects of Wesleyan theology that I hold dear. Though I cannot quote it exactly, one delegate, speaking on the issue of human sexuality, mentioned that God’s grace was not available to persons of the LGBTQI community until they repented of their sins. This language, along with much of the other debate against adding this piece to the Social Principles made my heart break and made my eyes well with tears. How could we be so hurtful and how could we deny the prevenient grace that God has for all people, when it’s such a Wesleyan idea? How can we live as United Methodist when we cannot agree that God’s grace is open and available to all people, regardless of their sexual orientation, or anything else? Ultimately, the addition passed, with a 56% vote in the affirmative. It barely passed. That afternoon, I knew that this vote, heartbreaking as it was, was one of the reasons why I chose to walk with my brothers and sisters who were silently demonstrating that morning. And it was one of the reasons why I would continue to be active with that group during the remainder of my time there.

This vote, along with other significant pieces of legislation, challenged the very heart of what I believe it means to be United Methodist. Our Wesleyan tradition teaches us that God’s grace is available to all persons, regardless of how sinful, terrible, and awful we are. Our Wesleyan heritage also teaches us that God’s grace is available to us before we even realize that we are sinners. This grace, which Wesley calls, prevenient grace is part of Wesley’s foundation for salvation and Christian life. Another piece of legislation challenged the use of the “Wesleyan” quadrilateral, from the days of Albert Outlet, asking that scripture be considered the only credible source of authority and changing the way that United Methodists process and live out their faith, negating the effects of tradition, reason, and experience. As an observer, these pieces of legislation and the debate that was part of this legislation struck dissonantly with my understanding of Methodist/Wesleyan theology.

After the vote about the addition to the Social Principles, I found myself more deeply moved to stand with my friends in the LGBTQI community and with the activities of the Common Witness Coalition. As a United Methodist, steeped in Wesleyan theology, history, and tradition, I knew that I could not remain silent on these issues of injustice. I had just finished watching the heartbreaking debate about whether or not God can love an LGBTQI person and whether God’s love and grace was available to that person. My mind began to think theologically about my actions that morning. I chose to stand, because I could no longer be silent about the injustice that my brothers and sisters in the United Methodist Church were facing. I chose to join them, to ally my support with them, and to cry with them because it was all that I could do. Living out of the Wesleyan principles that have defined my life to this point, and those which I pray will continue to define it long after, I joined my brothers and sisters in their silent demonstration. This is what it means to be a United Methodist - to speak lovingly and carefully, to honor others in our places of disagreement, but also to call out injustice. I could not be silent any longer. The time for silence and prayer had passed. My life, necessarily became a different kind of prayer; an active, engaged, refusing to be silent prayer. This is the prayer and the work that guided me and my understanding United Methodism from that time forward.

The following day, I participated in yet another demonstration, walking silently around the bar of the conference. This time, I held a sign. It said, “56% in favor of God’s grace for ALL people.” I chose to carry this sign and to walk with members of the Coalition because I could not sit idly and watch more damage and hurt be done to my friends in the LGBTQI community and to their allies. I carried the sign because it made me feel physically sick to know that LGBTQI persons and their allies feel alienated and disillusion from the Church – a place where I felt so much love and grace. And I realized that I carried a sign, because it was safe. As a person of privilege, at least in this arena, it was safe for me to stand with my LGBTQI brothers and sisters, with an engagement ring on my finger, from the man I would marry in less than two months. I could “speak” and the potential for damage to my own ordination process was minimal. Others, could not, for fear of being, “found out.” This was an opportunity for me to use my privilege and to stand with others who were not so safe in “speaking out.” This realization helped me to further filter my experiences that week and to prepare me for what was to come. I prayerfully and joyfully celebrated the opportunity that God had given me, and hoped that my work would make a difference for someone. This work also helped me identify with Methodist history. In speaking out on behalf of those whose voice we are not yet listening to, just as my Methodist brothers and sisters have done for years. In the anti-slavery movement, in the workers’ rights movements, in the civil rights movement, in the women’s movement, Methodist have been using their voice to speak for justice, and at General Conference, I couldn’t help but join them. In these moments, I was both reinforcing my ideas of what being a United Methodist is, and recreating them. For me, “speaking” and acting at General Conference allowed me to live more deeply and fully into my United Methodist beliefs and helped me to find my own prophetic voice within the church.

Later that day, I spent time with the Coalition as they prepared for a bigger demonstration. It was a planned demonstration (by the Coalition) but it was to be an unexpected demonstration on the floor of the General Conference. At the signal of our leaders, demonstrators planned to sing “Wade in the Water” while streaming into the center of the room, crossing (illegally) into the bar of the conference session. As this was discussed, questions flooded my mind. “Should I do this?” “What happens if they ask us to leave, and we do not?” “Will I get arrested?” I thought to myself that perhaps I would sit this one out. But God said no. I remembered my earlier thinking – about the privilege I had and the safety that came with the engagement ring on my finger. I would participate in this action because it was safe for me to do so. I would participate with allies and members of the LGBTQI community (some who were far more brave than I!) I would participate because by failing to do so, I was letting others speak for me and I was failing to truly stand with and in support of my LGBTQI brothers and sisters. And so I participated. Near the close of the afternoon session, we sang and we walked to the center of the room, around the communion table. We participated in an “occupy” style call and response litany and then we sang again as we left the floor. I watched as I spoke – delegates were shocked when members of the Coalition streamed onto the floor. The Bishop prayed over us and then quickly dismissed for the dinner recess. But many delegates stayed. Some took pictures, along with the reporters and other press. Others just stood silently in solidarity or participated at their seats. It was beautiful. And to be quite honest, it was one of the most prominent moments in my life when I truly felt as though I was a part of the kingdom of God. I might have been breaking church rules, but I was living into the kingdom that God was calling me to be a part of. I was speaking with and for those whose voices have not been heard. I was standing alongside those who had been harmed by the actions of the General Conference and the failure of the United Methodist Church to recognize the harm that was and still is being done.

Unfortunately for me, that action was the final major action I had a part of at this year’s General Conference. Sadly, before the human sexuality legislation was debated, I was on a plane, headed back to the safety and security of Boston, with prayers in my heart and my Coalition friends weighing heavy in my mind. When Thursday’s direct action and communion service took place, I found myself 35,000 feet in the air, praying for my brothers and sisters. For the hurt that was being done and for the life and wholeness that would spring forth from that communion table. I knew, that even though I was not physically present, I was standing with my brothers and sisters around that communion table, singing about the justice that the Lord requires of us and sharing in the pain of my brothers and sisters. And I believe with all my heart, that they knew I was there as well.

Participating in this year’s General Conference has allowed me to redefine and to differently articulate my role as a person who is called to ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church. For some time, I have been wrestling with my calling, as all of us do, whether called to lay or ordained ministry. For some time, I have known I was called to ordained ministry and to ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church. However, often, I questioned that calling. Was I really called? Why me? And why in the world to the United Methodist Church? At General Conference, I found some answers to these questions that I have been wrestling with for years. Though many of my young friends have said that the United Methodist Church no longer holds any value for them because of its failure to be inclusive to all persons, this is something that I just cannot say. I still have hope for the United Methodist Church. I still believe in the United Methodist Church and I believe that I am called to be a part of the ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church “for such a time as this.” In the Book of Esther, Esther is called to speak to the king, to speak to the authority on behalf of others. And while I do not speak on behalf of others, because I seek to empower them to speak for themselves, I identify with her task. Esther 4:14 says, For if you keep silence at such a time as this, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another quarter, but you and your father’s family will perish. Who knows? Perhaps you have come to royal dignity for just such a time as this.

General Conference has called me out of my silence. It has challenged me in my current ministry contexts and given me direction for my future ministry contexts. Do not be silent. Speak out against injustice. Speak prophetically to the church. Be the church TO the church, if necessary. Stand alongside others and work for justice together. Not taking away the power of those who have little voice, but by empowering them to use their voices and to cry out their injustices. My calling, for the present and the future is to refuse to be silent. And I believe that I have been called for such a time as this.

While my time at General Conference was largely heartbreaking, I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be there. In being there, I was able to find my voice – a voice that I had allowed to be silenced during my time in seminary, determined not to rock the boat too much and allowing myself to slip into the ease of my relatively privileged life. My time at General Conference however, called me out of this sleepy silence, challenging me to speak and to act, to be angry and to be prophetic about the injustice that I see around us and in our church. Moreover, my time at General Conference, while not everyone would see it right away, would lead me to becoming hopeful for the United Methodist Church. At several points during the conference, I sent a heartbroken text to someone saying, “I hate the United Methodist Church.” And in those moments, I truly did. But after some careful reflection, some conversations and processing with others via the Internet (Twitter,) and some time, my heartache about the United Methodist Church turned into hope. I watched as people gathered together to dream about the future of the UMC in the wake of the failed restructuring attempt and the hurt that was done to persons from a variety of backgrounds. I am currently participating in a conversation with other persons about the future of the United Methodist Church and the hopes/dreams we have for the UMC. And I refuse to give up hope, both now and in the future as I live out my calling to be a vocal, prophetic, passionate, transformational disciple of Jesus Christ in the United Methodist Church.