The Need For "Sinful" Denominations

[UPDATE]

The discussion of the need or future of the mainline church or denominations in general has been a hot topic (again) as of late.  Tony Jones has a few posts on his blog, one being HERE, that ask whether or not the future of the mainline church is a bleak one and whether or not we should, perhaps, help speed it along.    I don’t think so.

Below is a response I wrote this past summer when Tony Jones, in response to a friend’s hang-up in the ordination process with the Presbyterian church (you can more about that here: An Emerging Mess), said that denominations were “sinful.”    Again, I don’t think so.   While they may indeed do “sinful” things (like any one or any thing) they are not ontologically sinful.   I’m reposting that discussion here for convenience sake.

Look back in a few days if you are interested as I will be posting a response with some questions to Philip Clayton’s recent article, Theology after Google.  Philip is speaking at the Emergence NOW conference Tony Jones is presently at and has this particular article brings up some interesting things to think about as mainline churches move forward (or die slowly).    [END UPDATE]

Ordination along with denominations have received quite a beating in the blogosphere over the last week.   If you don’t know what I am talking about visit Pomomusings or Greg Bolt’s blog for a good overview with links to sites where this discussion is ongoing.

As I peruse the comments this topic has generated it struck me that no one is really talking about the real casualty in all of this:  the local church.  If we maintain that denominations are “sinful” (the position Tony Jones has taken) and should be done away with and the process of ordination should be made easier and more grass-roots, the church will die.

When I was baptized I was immersed into a story far bigger than me.  All of us who call ourselves Christians are connected by a stream that runs through all of time.  I am not an island unto myself.  I am connected to the saints that have come before me, live with me and will live after me.   Because you are, I am.

In our post-modern theological pow-wows it is trendy to talk of narratives.  The story into which our baptism initiates us we call a grand meta-narrative, or a  means by which we define our existence as well as make educated guesses about where creation is headed (or more precisely, where God is taking it).  Evangelism, in this motif, is defined by Stanley Hauerwas as “an invitation to switch stories.”   Christians believe we have a pretty good story, one we aptly call Good News, that is worth even our very lives.

On the ground this story gets played out in a variety of ways.  How this story is lived out in Africa may look different then China.  How it gets lived out in times of persecution may look different then in times of peace.  How it is lived in the ghettos may look different then the way it is lived on Wall Street.  The common thread that hopefully unites them all is that they each confess Jesus is Lord and strive to love God with heart, soul and mind and their neighbor as themselves.

Because I am human I do not always live up to the story my baptism calls me to live into.  Perhaps this is due in part because I find it difficult to wrap my head (and heart) around the enormity of this story.  Left to the macro, meta-narrative level alone I am overwhelmed.    Jesus must have known our heads and hearts could not handle living autonomously in his river of life, flowing through all of history, so he gave us the church.  The church, a local community of faith, puts flesh and bones on my story and helps me navigate the waters of my baptism.

Moving from the macro (grand meta-narrative) to the micro (local church) it is easy for us to become content.  Especially since we most often find a local church that most closely resembles ourselves.  Given that the majority of American churches are small churches (100 or less in worship each Sunday) it is no mystery how or why these churches might become homogenized.   Over time they lose objectivity.   Now, what would happen if these microcosms of God’s grand story, which have overtime begun to reflect the dreams and desires of the faithful members in attendance, determined that they would select for themselves their pastor?  And what if, in an attempt to be fair and inclusive of all those desiring such an office, they made the process to become their pastor as simple as feasibly (yet not recklessly) possible?  I imagine that a local church would want to safeguard against abuses or opening the door to heresy within the pulpit so they would do what comes natural and select a committee of people who can help discern for the local body who is a potential candidate to be their pastor before bringing said person before the congregation for a vote.  Over time, I can imagine what those committee meetings might look like.  The candidate in question would be selected based on how well he or she conforms to the image this local church has cast for itself.   The church, over time, loses the ability to critique herself.   It becomes an individual, only a bit larger.  Unless there is a third way.

Denominations have forged a unique road between the macro meta-narrative and the microcosm of local church homogeneity.  As a Methodist I have a context that gives shape to my faith that is grass roots enough to have teeth, enabling me to feel anchored yet big enough that some objectivity is maintained.  There is a rich tradition that I as a young pastor can lay claim to as my own tradition and a certain wisdom that comes with centuries worth of theological pow-wows.  I am not an island unto myself but stand on the shoulders of the many that have passed before me and who journey with me.

Now, why will this save the local church?  Because as a denomination goes about ordaining its pastors and these pastors go out to serve these individual local churches the church receives not just one of their own members whom they have all agreed sufficiently agrees with their perceived vision of themselves but they receive a pastor who at his or her best will call the church to look with eyes beyond herself to a larger story outsides themselves.  A pastor who enters a local church as a custodian of the larger Church’s story is positioned uniquely to offer praise where praise is due and critique where critique is due.   Such was the unique position St. John of Patmos had as he delivered his pastoral letters to each of his seven churches in Revelation 2 and 3.  In a way John was acting as their bishop – one who cared about the direction the local churches were taking with an objective and prophetic focus.

Churches that receive a pastor in this way resist the temptation of becoming mirrors directed at themselves.  They continually have a voice from without that can bring a word to help catch the particular story of the church up with the larger story of Christ.    This is life.  This is life in the same way that my particular baptism catches my story up with the story of the Church.  I say we should celebrate and give thanks wherever we see signs of God’s life.   Denominations and the process of ordination that comes with them, while never perfect, are something worth celebrating.

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