Not Their Finest Hour

My seven-year-old granddaughter was staying with me on the night of the final debate. Playing at my side, she occasionally glanced at the television screen. At one point she said, “He is not being very nice.” About twenty minutes later I went into the kitchen to get some iced tea. My granddaughter asked, “Are you going to get your stress doll?” I turned off the debate.

I have not written about the election because, well, everyone else is. In this post I do not want to write about Donald or Hillary, but I do want to write about the Evangelical church and the 2016 election.  That is the subject that sends me reachhing for my stress doll.

I have not been surprised that many Evangelical leaders have remained silent about Donald Trump. They just want to stay out of the line of fire, waiting for November 13, when they can preach without questioning themselves about their awkward silence while the nation plunged toward incivility. After the election they will move on to their Christmas series and hope everyone forgets their unwillingness to comment in the face of one of the most divisive elections in American history.

Fortunately, not everyone has remain eerily silent. I was fascinated when students at conservative Liberty University spoke against their president’s enthusiastic support for Trump’s candidacy. I was equally surprised when Southern Baptist leader Russell Moore, with whom I disagree on all things LGBTQ, chose to speak out against Trump.

Evangelical women of color, like Lisa Sharon Harper at Sojourners, and Nikki Toyama-Szeto at the International Justice Mission, have been speaking out against Trump since the beginning of his campaign, but the mainstream Evangelical world has not had ears to hear these intelligent and wise women of faith. They did pay attention, however, when popular women’s speaker Beth Moore finally spoke up after the Trump audiotapes were released. Beth’s words carry weight in their megachurches, so they had a hard time ignoring her. Still, most chose to remain silent.

I suppose the Evangelicals who have surprised me most are the members of the newly formed American Association of Evangelicals, who published a letter on September 27 that railed against the rights of transgender people, suggested recent racial unrest was sparked by paid instigators, (as though racial problems are not enough in and of themselves to cause vigorous protests), identified refugees as a danger to national sovereignty and suggested the IRS is out to “intimidate Christian groups that disagree with the current political establishment.”  And oh yeah, they also strongly suggested their members should vote for Trump.

The letter was extreme. Therefore I was shocked when I saw that signers included Eric Metaxas, George Barna, Jim Garlow, Wayne Grudem and people I personally know. The letter ended with a plea for others to sign and add their voice to the movement. As of October 24, 1586 people had signed the divisive, inflammatory letter.

This is not a document that will be proudly displayed by the grandchildren of those who have signed. History tells us we do not remember the champions of the status quo or the privileged who tenaciously hang on to their entitlement. We remember those who are courageously on the side of the minorities, the oppressed and the misunderstood.

The letter published by the AAE feeds on fear. There is reason for Evangelical fear, but it has nothing to do with the next Supreme Court justice. It has nothing to do with marriage equality, transgender rights, immigration, refugees or racial unrest. It has everything to do with an Evangelical community that has lost its way. It is far too often a community in which xenophobia is preferable to love, protectionism more noble than generosity, and judgment more godly than compassion. This is not the evangelical world’s finest hour.

On the night of the final debate I was not, in fact, headed to the kitchen to get my stress doll. The doll, a welcome gift from a close friend, was actually back at my house in Boulder County. But when I headed up to the mountains for the weekend, I brought the stress doll back to Denver with me. I’m afraid it’s going to be a rough couple of weeks.

And so it goes.

 

11,776 Women

And then there was Donald Trump’s audio recording, and his feeble attempt to explain it away. Calling sexual assault “locker room talk” was deplorable. Trump’s words, in any setting, were not okay. They perpetuate the abuse of women.

Physical, sexual and verbal abuse is an epidemic, and nowhere is it worse than in the American home. According to the Bureau of Justice, 38 million American women (one in four) will experience physical intimate partner violence in their lifetime. Over 4.7 million are abused each year, 20 victims a minute.

The last couple of weeks have seen an increasing number of Evangelicals speak out against Donald Trump. I find their comments ironic, because the truth is when it comes to the American family, the Evangelical church has been condoning the abuse of women for generations.

Denise George, in her book, What Women Wish Pastors Knew, quotes a study of 6,000 pastors surveyed about how they handle domestic violence. The study found 26 percent told the wives who came to them for help with domestic abuse that they should submit to their husbands. An astonishing 25 percent suggested it was their own fault the abuse was taking place, because they had not submitted to their spouses! Fifty percent said women should be willing to tolerate some level of violence!

Those numbers were appalling. Surely they could not be correct. I began searching for other studies and found that among Fundamentalist pastors, those numbers are all too accurate. Over 80 percent of Evangelical pastors admit they have never preached a single sermon on domestic violence. Many have no idea just how bad the problem is, or how unknowingly the Evangelical church contributes to the problem.

Instead of providing solutions, many conservative churches exacerbate domestic abuse, assuming marriage should be preserved at all costs, that all divorce is sin, and that forgiveness and reunion are one and the same. They also misapply the scriptural passages on headship and submission, empowering abusers by sanctioning their behavior.

The complementarian view of submission and headship, held by many of these churches, feeds the dilemma. It encourages men to see themselves as superior to women.  But that is only half the problem. The power structure in these institutions is 100 percent male, and men just do not get it. I know I didn’t. I could not fathom a man who would abuse his wife, and women were not telling me about it, so I was not speaking out. Only now have I become aware just how pervasive domestic abuse is in Evangelical homes.

The church can continue to keep its head in the sand or it can attack this scourge. First, the church must reexamine its position on what the Bible does and does not say about submission and headship. Second, the church must allow women into formal leadership. That will bring the subject to the forefront in short order. Unfortunately, when it comes to Evangelical churches, neither one of those things is likely to happen anytime soon.

As so many are courageously doing with Donald Trump, Christian women must challenge the silence of the church on this plague. Lives are at stake. Between 2001 and 2012, 6,488 Americans were killed in Afghanistan. During that same period 11,776 women were murdered by their current or former partners! It is time for the church to admit its complicity on the subject of domestic abuse and make up for lost time. The violence must be stopped.

 

 

What A Week!

I am sorry Indianapolis, but you are not exciting. You lack the mountains of Denver, the glitz of Los Angeles, or the energy of New York. Your people are sweet and kind, like Canadians. But you are a white bread city. Last week however, on the campus of Christian Theological Seminary, you were not a tame city at all.

The 2016 OPEN Conference convened in Indianapolis from October 5-7. Over 75 presenters led workshops in seven different tracks. From San Diego to Boston, hundreds came to imagine a vibrant future for progressive evangelicals. We heard messages from Richard Rohr, Brian McLaren and a host of other leaders committed to doing justice, loving mercy and walking humbly with God.

I was busy. I moderated, led, or co-led six workshops. I also did a church planting assessment, preparing a new generation of progressive evangelical leaders. In one workshop Jonathan and I told the difficult story of my transition and how it has affected our family. You can watch the video by going to the OPEN Network or Paula Stone Williams on Facebook. (I’d put a link here, but I am a Baby Boomer. Our technical skills have their limits.  And while I am at it, how young do you have to be to understand Snapchat?)

The conference felt like taking off into a fast paced airborn trajectory, building a plane while it is flying. Challenged by men and women who are brilliant yet humble, I came away with greater knowledge and deeper wisdom. Stan Mitchell, from Gracepointe Church in Nashville, talked about hermeneutics in a way that resonated with evangelicals and mainliners. The words of seven women, who spoke of their challenges in ministry, left the audience breathless. Evenings were spent with the leaders from Highlands as we reflected, debated, and applied new insights to our own growing church.

When I got on the plane Saturday I was exhausted, but in the best possible way. Back in Denver I finished the sermon I was to preach on Sunday morning at Highlands Church. We are in a series called, Imagine a Better Way. After the week I’d had, that better way was easy to imagine. When the second service ended it was all I could do to contain my joy. From horizon to horizon, the goodness of God was abundant.

I am amazed all of this has come to fruition just a few short years after losing pretty much everything but my family and a few friends. Cathy wrote a note the other day that said, “You are finally really saying what you believe. You are expressing eloquently what is in your heart and what needs to be said. And guess what? No one is dying!”

She is right. I am free of the encumbrances of leading a multi-million dollar ministry that required me to have guarded public opinions. I am free of the fear of fundamentalism and the judgment embedded within it. I now live in a world that loves Jesus but encourages intellectual pursuit, a world unafraid of mystery. I am in the right body, serving in a church I love, involved in a movement bringing much needed change. Life is good.

My previous years in ministry were wonderful and rewarding, filled with friendships I will always treasure. But that world chose not to engage with Paula.  With sadness I left them behind. Yet in letting go, I found new life, with abundant hope. I still face challenges aplenty, and suffering is an ongoing companion, but I do not travel alone. I journey in the company of fellow travelers with whom I am willing to trust my life, as together we lean into the future, committed to the ministry of reconciliation.

And so it goes.

Thanks, But It’s Not Necessary

Last week yet another well-meaning soul sent me information they had read from people who regretted transitioning genders. I have received a number of these emails since the spurious news accounts of Caitlyn Jenner’s supposed transgender regret. I usually click on the links to see if there is any new or helpful information. The story is always the same.

The web site is usually the work of Christian fundamentalists or the product of right wing magazines or newspapers. The narrative is predictable. It is the story of an individual who, through the power of Jesus, discovers his manhood and transitions back to the male gender. What I find lacking on these web sites is any peer-reviewed scientific studies on gender transition regret, though the sites do often reference one single study in which the post-transition suicide ideation rate was 35 percent.

What those web sites do not tell you is that particular study is based on information gathered almost 15 years ago. They will also not tell you of the plethora of peer-reviewed studies showing the reasons for post transition suicidal ideation. It is virtually never related to the person’s unhappiness in their new gender. It is always related to the social rejection they receive, often from fundamentalist and evangelical family, friends and acquaintances. In other words, the people triumphantly quoting this study are the very same people who are, by their actions, causing suicidal ideation!

Peer reviewed scientific studies consistently show 98 percent of transgender individuals who transition are happier in their new life than they were in their previous life. Fewer than one percent de-transition. While I am aware of no studies about suicide rates of those who de-transition, I would not be surprised if it is high. Among the few high profile individuals who have de-transitioned, there have been well-publicized suicides after they have returned to their birth gender.

Since many of these web sites are hosted by Christian fundamentalists, I believe it is important to counter their claims. Many transgender individuals, male and female, find their faith far stronger after transition than it was before. I am one of those individuals. It is God’s love that gave me the courage to be true to myself, and it is Christ’s church that has nurtured my journey.

While the evangelical church rejected me, the progressive evangelical church welcomed me with great joy. My own congregation, Highlands Church, has been a wonderful place focused on loving well, instead of obsessing over right beliefs. It is a church in which God as angry judge has been replaced by the biblical God of love. It is a church not organized to protect the tribe, but a church organizing for the common good.   I am thrilled to be a part of Highlands Church and the progressive evangelical movement.  (By the way, Brian McLaren’s new book, The Great Spiritual Migration, talks a lot about the shift taking place toward a church organizing for the common good.)

Most of you who take the time to read my blog know I am a person inclined to read voraciously, and I am not afraid of studies that put my current views under a magnifying glass. You can rest assured there are few peer-reviewed studies on transgender issues that I miss. If a serious one comes along that brings into question the efficacy of transitioning, I will be the first to write about it. In the meantime, you can save yourself some time and stop sending your well-intended warnings. I am fine, warmly embraced by a loving family and a thriving church, and more content than I have ever been.

And so it goes.

Things I Am Learning – Lesson #551

Last week my friend Jen made an impassioned presentation that began with these words:

“When I had each of my babies I had this visceral experience. As much as I needed rest and healing, I did not want to be separated from my newborn. I wanted to soak them in, enfold them, inhale them. It wasn’t a head thing as much as it was a body thing. My body needed to take in my baby. My body needed to learn my baby. My body needed to love my baby. My body feels this way about Longmont (where she lives.) I spent some time this week walking up and down the streets that make up the heart of my city, up and down, not really praying, just observing, taking in my town. My body needs my town.”

Guys don’t write like that. Besides the obvious fact that they cannot give birth to babies, it is not the way men are wired. “My body needs my town” is pretty incomprehensible to most men. While their minds are busy solving problems, their bodies are along for the ride. Body and mind are not integrated as they are in women. Men’s bodies do not follow the lunar cycle. They do not produce beings, which leaves them often confounded by the intuition of mothers. This is a problem.

In Hebrew the word wisdom is grammatically feminine. That is the reason the Book of Proverbs refers to wisdom as “she.” Men in the Evangelical church do not allow women into positions of formal leadership. Should we be surprised those leadership structures are so often lacking in wisdom? Only half of the image of God is in the room. The absence of the other half is painfully obvious.

When Jen made the impassioned plea of a wise woman, my immediate response was to fear the men in the room might find it lacking. Where were the facts and figures, the measurements that would sell her presentation? I began speaking to the group about demographics and return on investment. I spoke to the left brained humans in the room. I spoke like a man. I was afraid the words of a mother were not enough. I should have known better.

Cathy, the mother of our three children, rarely speaks up in a business meeting. She listens. She takes in the words, body language and unspoken needs of the others in the room. She takes them into her body and processes them with her being. When she does finally speak, it is with wisdom, clarity and insight.

At Highlands Church, we empower women. I wrote about that four weeks ago. When Jen spoke, there were five women and four men in the room. In most Evangelicals churches there are never enough women in the room, especially when decisions are made affecting the entire church. Women are only allowed to make decisions for other women; they are not to instruct men. At least that is how many Evangelicals interpret scripture. (Personally, I do not understand looking at scripture as a constitution instead of an inspired library of books, written over hundreds of years by a plethora of writers.)

After I spoke at One Church in Chandler, Arizona last Sunday, I spent the afternoon with Ryan Gear, the founding pastor. As we drove through Scottsdale we stopped at The Trinity Church, the new congregation begun by Mark Driscoll, the pastor recently removed from his megachurch in Seattle. The building was filled with women attending a “women’s event.” Ryan and I walked around. I used the restroom, which was strangely satisfying, using the women’s restroom at Mark Driscoll’s church. Ryan took a photo of me in front of the building (pictured below.) Then we left, pondering a theology that says women’s voices are only for other women, while a man like Mark gets to speak to everyone.

In my new life I spend a lot of time with mothers, collecting their wisdom. They are experts in paying attention, grounded by compassion and empathy. They are slow to speak and quick to serve. They intuitively meet the needs of others before attending to their own. They look a lot like Jesus.

So one more time, why doesn’t the Evangelical church place women right where they belong, smack dab in the middle of the decision making process? I know the answer to that question is rooted in the reluctance of existing power structures to give up their power. Alas, I was once a willing participant in the existing power structures.  But that is a conversation for another day, maybe we’ll call it lesson #552 .

And so it goes.

 

Living and Loving Without Labels

Let me tell you about my church. Highlands Church in Denver turned seven years old this month. If my church were a child, it would be starting second grade, enjoying the last year before the god awful standardized testing begins.

Mark Tidd dreamed up the idea of Highlands, and he and his wife, LeAnn, began funding the new church themselves. When Mark dared to tell his sponsoring church the new congregation would be open to LGBTQ people, they pulled not only their support, but the money he and his wife had personally given to get the church underway. It was not a little bit of money. It reminds me of the words spoken by Samuel Hamilton in John Steinbeck’s East of Eden: “It takes courage to back truth unacceptable to our times. There’s a punishment for it, and it is usually crucifixion.”

Mark persevered and mortgaged his house to lease a place for the new church to meet and Highlands was born. About 800 people now call the church home. Rachael McClair joined the staff early on, with Jenny Morgan added a little later. All three are co-pastors, forming the unique trinitarian leadership I wrote about three weeks ago.

After I transitioned I was struggling, suffering from my experience with the church. I thought my church life was over. I attended a few mainline Protestant churches, but the worship was foreign and the churches lacked the vibrancy I had come to expect. Instead, I acquiesced to the pull of the mountain biking trails on Sunday mornings. I was disappointed, but I moved on.

A former co-worker introduced me to Mark Tidd. Our first lunch together lasted almost three hours. I thought I was special. I didn’t know every lunch with Mark lasts three hours. I attended my first service a few months later and cried as I had not cried since I received the call to transition. I knew I was called back to the church, and more specifically, to Highlands. Highlands Church was not a part of my religious tradition, but my own tradition had rejected Paula, so I went where I was welcomed.

It is my privilege to serve with the church planting team at Highlands, preparing for our first church plant in 2017. They even allow me to preach occasionally.  Through Highlands, I am also working with OPEN (opennetworkus.org), a network of progressive Evangelicals led by courageous people like Doug Pagitt and Brian McLaren. I also serve as a coach and church planting assessor with the Center for Progressive Renewal, an outreach (as is OPEN) of the ministry of Convergence, a joint effort of five mainline denominations, under the direction of the very capable Cameron Trimble.

Sometimes tears come during services. An old hymn goes up on screen and a memory stirs, now redeemed. Mark or Jenny will preach a sermon that asks more questions than it provides answers, and I tear up at the honesty and humility of it all. Christy, with whom I often sit, reaches over and rubs my back when my tears begin, and I know all manner of things shall be well.

I have overseen the planting of many churches in my day. Only one has taken the courageous path of Highlands, and that church too has paid a price for its courage. I have tremendous respect for the church’s leadership. I’ll let that church remain nameless. They make enough wonderful noise on their own.

In my heart I am an optimist. The Mets will win another World Series. Americans will do the right thing in November, and the church will rid itself of fear and love boldly. For millennia God has patiently worked through the creation to make crooked ways straight. Why would she stop now? The church will move, in fits and starts to be sure, but move forward nevertheless, toward the reconciliation of all things to our loving God.

And so it shall go.

Grays and Yellows, With a Splash of Red

I moved to Denver. I sold some stock and bought some furniture and moved into a cute little apartment with brick walls and wood floors and an extra skinny door that somehow has something to do with the fact that a century ago the building was a bordello.

The apartment is in the Highlands, or Highland, as Wikipedia insists it is called, or East Highland or Lower Highland or LoHi. The identity of the neighborhood appears to be as complicated as my own. I’m told 57,000 people live here. They are all at Little Man Ice Cream at the same time, and they all park their cars on my block.

I bought a Felt Verza Speed 20 bicycle, more befitting a city dweller than my Gary Fisher Hi-Fi Deluxe mountain bike. Dual suspension isn’t necessary on paved bike paths, though it does have disc brakes. They come in handy. Did I mention 57,000 people live here?

Cathy and I have been together 44 years. Everyone has an opinion about what we should do, as if they had been married 44 years. We usually listen politely before reminding them that they don’t know shit about what is good for the two of us. We will figure this out on our own, thank you very much.

A couple of years ago our marriage therapist retired. We were his last clients on his last day. I’m not sure we were what he wanted his last therapy memory to be. I asked, “How many couples are willing to work this hard?” He didn’t hesitate when he answered, “One percent.” “How many couples get this far?” “One percent, which is what makes this so tragic. ”

All of our therapists used the word tragic. We asked them to stop. It is not a helpful word. What you call tragic we call life. I didn’t ask for this. Neither did Cathy. At least I got something for it. I got an authentic life, the loss of depression, peace inside my own skin, but Cathy only experienced losses none of us can truly understand.

My apartment is decorated in grays and yellows, with a splash of muted red here and there, which draws your eye to the brick outer wall. There is a picture of the Denver nighttime skyline on one wall, the view I would have if it weren’t for the building across the alley from my window.

I wanted to bring my framed print of Monet’s The Red Kerchief from the house, but the picture was too big, so I ordered a smaller print. It is the first thing I see in the morning, a winter scene of a woman walking outside a cafe window as she glances longingly into its warmth. The painting is of Monet’s wife, Camille, who died in 1879 at 32 years of age. Monet kept the painting with him until his own death in 1926.

My apartment is directly above the lobby of my church. I hear the worship team practicing early each Sunday morning. I add the third part to the two-part harmony as I prepare for the day. The rest of the week my morning preparations are without melody.

There are many people who love me well. I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for people who are not so loved.  The co-pastors at my church have been wonderful. My friend Jen checks in and we get together and compare notes about what it means to be someone who cannot unknow what they know. Christy invites me to dinner and provides long hugs and thoughts I need to hear. David loves me with the love that accompanies 35 years of deeply held friendship. My children and their spouses are loving and supportive, but they have their own lives to lead, filled with their own challenges.

My best friend is Cathy. That has not changed, nor is it likely to change. She is a person of great compassion, extraordinary insight and keen intelligence.

I have so much generous support on this road of switchbacks and false summits and the occasional tranquil meadow. We were created for relationship, as God, Jesus and the Spirit teach us. I do not have to walk alone outside a cafe window, red kerchief pulled tightly around my  face. I walk arm in arm with many who love me well. I am blessed.

Storms, Worried Windowpanes and Wrestling Matches

Before I opened an email from an old friend, the opening line of Rilke’s The Man Watching came to mind – I can tell by the way the trees beat after so many dull days on my worried windowpanes that a storm is coming. I knew I was going to be challenged, and I knew it was deserved.

My friend said it was rather peculiar that I am now such an advocate for LGBTQ rights, when previously I was publicly silent on the subject. He is right. I had remained silent because I led a 4 million dollar ministry. If I had come out as LGBTQ supportive, we would have lost a great amount of income. At the time the silence seemed understandable, but at this juncture I do not believe it was excusable.

The second reason I was silent was that I would have invited stressful and impassioned conversations about LGBTQ issues, while I was losing my own struggle to avoid coming out as transgender. That was also understandable, but also not excusable. After all, I had always been one to proclaim with confidence the truth will set you free. But unfortunately, and inappropriately, I remained silent.

My decision was wrong. Now that I am living much of my life among LGBTQ people, I see the damage done by my silence. Lives were at stake, and I was more concerned about the financial health of our ministry and my own precarious psychological balance than showing concern for the people who were losing everything by being true to themselves. I failed a lot of people, including my own self.

What could I have done? I could have left the ministry I was serving. The board was not ready to make a decision supportive of marriage equality. They needed to be true to their collective conscience as much as I needed to be true to mine. While I wholeheartedly believe their conclusions were wrong, I strongly uphold their right to take a stand where they believe one had to be taken. I encourage my Evangelical friends to take a fresh look at their hermeneutics, but I would never ask them to violate their conscience. Yet I was violating my own conscience. Fortunately, the experience taught me some valuable lessons.

I learned when I wake up at night, drenched in sweat from the fear of being “found out,” it’s time to be found out. I learned when I avoid spending time with a particular people group because I am afraid that if I do, I will be called toward activism on behalf of that group, it is time to spend more time with that people group. I have learned if there is an uneasiness of heart when I remain silent, it is time to examine my silence. I learned giving up privilege and power was not something I was willing to choose. It had to be taken from me.

There was a second reason I was drawn to Rilke’s poem. It wasn’t just he opening line. It was the lines about Jacob, the scoundrel who made a habit of stealing everything but the kitchen sink, then found himself on the shores of the river Jabbok, face to face with the Lord of the universe. Jacob was accustomed to winning, so he probably wasn’t surprised when the first light of dawn revealed the awful truth that he might actually win his wrestling match with God. But somewhere in his soul he knew that was not a good idea. Jacob asked God to bless him, and his blessing was his defeat, his blessed defeat.

So much of my experience in losing all of my jobs and my beloved religious family was for me, a necessary defeat. Not only did I need to be true to who I was, I needed to be separated from my comfort and entitlement. I needed to be called out for not speaking out on LGBTQ issues. I needed the lessons that only come in the dark night. I learned with Rilke that,

Winning does not tempt that man

This is how he grows

By being defeated, decisively,

By constantly greater beings.

 

And so it goes.

A New Kind of Leadership

For twelve years I wrote a weekly magazine column almost exclusively devoted to the church. Today I write more about the social wars infecting American culture, though my thoughts often return to the church. Today is one of those posts.

During my years as the CEO of a church planting ministry, I was flexible on a number of elements about church planting, including the number of staff, the amount of money dedicated to the plant and the location. On one issue, however, I was firm. Each church needed one and only one senior (or lead) pastor.

I knew unless they had good character formation and an empowered board of overseers, founding pastors had a tendency to become benevolent dictators at best, and egotists at worst. Over the years I’ve watched more than a few self-destruct. But I still believed there needed to be a single person who was the most equal among equals.

I consulted with several new churches in which two co-pastors shared leadership. In each case I told them eventually one would emerge as the lead pastor. They all said I was wrong, but in every case I was right. Eventually one person would give me a call to say his co-pastor had departed.

I am now a member of a church of about 800 that is not quite seven years old. While there is a founding pastor, Mark Tidd, he is not the lead pastor. He is one of three co-pastors, all carrying equal responsibility. Two are women. Mark is one of the most balanced, sensitive, Christ-like guys I know. Jenny Morgan and Rachael McClair, the other two co-pastors, are extraordinarily mature women. There is little question the Highlands leadership structure would not work unless all three co-pastors were people of high character.

The resulting leadership, which they call Trinitarian, forms the cultural grounding of all leadership at Highlands. It also makes it one of the healthiest congregations I know. Would it be possible to have this kind of shared leadership if the pastors were younger, or all male? I know I can be accused of sexism, but when you have a room full of men, it doesn’t take long before the posturing begins. In my experience, women are more collaborative.

Can an existing church make the change to Trinitarian leadership? Could a church started with typical Evangelical (which is to say male) leadership make the change? I know of a church with two campuses on the East coast that has created a flat leadership model. They do have one senior pastor, but many congregants have no idea that is the case. They also have women and minorities comprising a third of the church’s pastoral staff and lay leadership. What is remarkable is that these changes have been made in less than 12 months, after the church was 10 years of age, a relatively short period of time when you consider the church’s Evangelical roots.

When I look back at all those years in a male-dominated Evangelical world, I wonder how I could have missed how out of balance the leadership structures were. Increasingly in America, there is only one place guaranteed to have only male leadership – the Evangelical church. If that is the only leadership community you inhabit, it is easy to miss how out of balance your leadership is. I am not sure how a group can lead adequately when they only have half of the image of God in the room.

Over the last couple of years my previous ideas about church leadership have been properly challenged. The question is what do I intend to do about it?

I am pleased to say I am involved in church planting again. I have begun working with a team to determine the location and staff for a new church. And yes, we are committed to planting a church with Trinitarian leadership, balanced with male and female members, equal in authority and responsibility. I’ll let you know what happens.

And so it goes…

Merely Mortal

I still remember stealing a shiny Spanish coin from Bob May’s basement. I was probably about 10. Bob had scads of them, so I reckoned he wouldn’t miss one. If I had asked, Bob probably would have given me a coin, but I didn’t ask. I just took one. It burned a hole in my pocket until I returned it to its place on his basement floor.

I long ago came to the conclusion we are all a combination of good and evil. We do not just commit sins of omission. We commit sins of commission, and we do it throughout our lives. Sometimes we put the coin back. Sometimes we do not.

I do not think Evangelical Christianity prepares us for the reality that we are never going to be perfect as Jesus is perfect. In the misguided notion that we can attain something close to sinless behavior, we end up focusing on specks and ignoring logs. We do not embrace and accept our full humanity. As a result, our failure to be superhuman results in deep-seated shame.

The truth is we all juggle the relative merit of various values and make decisions that leave logs sticking out of our eyes. When we make believe the logs of others are worse than our own, it is a vain attempt to climb into the clouds where we can live among the gods, passing judgment on mere mortals, negating the messiness of our own humanity.

I used to do adoption casework and would routinely ask people to tell me their greatest flaws. Most people had no trouble. Evangelicals balked. At first I thought they were reticent to admit their flaws. Eventually I realized many believed they had overcome theirs. The avoidance of their humanity made it difficult to evaluate their fitness as parents.

In East of Eden, John Steinbeck paints a fascinating portrait of twin brothers. One seems removed from the reality of his emptiness, while the other despises his own tendency toward the profane, while mistaking his brother’s pseudo-morality for piety. My good friend, Jen Jepsen (jenniferjepsen.org) wrote about the book last week in her journal. Her words are perfect:

Why is timshel (a Hebrew word in the novel) so important? I already believe in choice, but do I get the weight of the power? There is evil but we aren’t powerless over it. There is suffering, but we aren’t powerless over it. We have a choice, a constant choice. Do I choose greatness, in the form of choosing good over evil?

There are abundant, if not infinite implications here. We are each in copious supply of good AND evil. This is illustrated in the character of Cal. Aron chooses to walk the pious path, which eliminates him from the beauty of humanity, while Cal is fully aware of his sides and fully baffled by why he does what he does (Rom 7).

In Evangelical Christianity we’ve been dumbed down to this belief in holiness and perfection, so we strive and strive – we have a pile of Arons, but what about the Cals? Well, these are the beautiful multi-faceted souls who provide us with art, music, truth and redemption. These are the souls who fill churches like Highlands (the church Jen and I attend.) These are the souls who can climb into the depths with another, for they have been there.

I have no interest in accountability groups and prayer circles whose aim is to rid me of my poor choices (sin). These will only feed my Aron. I want the wrestle that renders me with a limp, like Jacob, like Cal. This is the greatness, the depth.

One of the blessings of becoming a pariah is that you quit striving. Transitioning and losing almost everyone and everything gifted me with a necessary holy defeat. I would not have chosen it, but I have come to receive it as a gift.

Walking with a limp helps me walk more slowly. I see my sins more clearly. There are so many. Lately I have been remorseful about not coming out earlier in support of LGBTQ people. I am embarrassed by my lack of integrity.

I am not, however, embarrassed by my humanity. I feel guilt where it is due, but I no longer feel shame. It is good to be human, and broken, and defeated, and redeemed. Jen is right. Therein lies the greatness, the depth.

And so it goes.