But There is No Unity!

In fourth grade social studies, we had to memorize the last part of Patrick Henry’s famous “Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death” speech.  The words come back to me sometimes in that weird way you remember things from a long time ago.  “Gentlemen may cry ‘Peace, peace’,” it began, “but there is no peace.”  It was years later that I realized he was quoting Jeremiah. 

I’ve been thinking about that line again since last week, when General Conference voted to change nothing about the church’s stance on homosexuality, not even to officially admit we disagree.  The arguments and politics behind such votes are complex.  But one rule of discourse is simple: no matter your stance, it would behoove you to claim a basic commitment to church unity.

Here’s how Adam Hamilton and Mike Slaughter put it, in their defeated “agree to disagree” amendment: “It is likely that this issue will continue to be a source of conflict within the church.  We have a choice: We can divide, or we can commit to disagree with compassion, grace, and love, while continuing to understand the concerns of the other.  Given these options, schism or respectful co-existence, we choose the latter.”

If I had been a General Conference delegate, I would have voted in favor of the amendment.  It would have been, at least, a small step in the right direction.

But I wouldn’t have been completely happy about it.  The way they put it, the choice seems so obvious: schism or respect?  Division or grace? 

And that makes me sound pretty bad when I say that I’m not sure “respectful co-existence” is my choice.  But what I mean is that I don’t find our current “co-existence” so respectful at all—certainly not to our LGBT brothers and sisters. 

I’m not saying division is necessarily the best answer.  But maybe it does deserve a real place in our conversation.  Maybe we do need to give up this idea we’ve held onto so tightly, that our task as a denomination is to preserve our sense of unity at all costs.

Yes, I know—it is Jesus’ prayer that his followers might be one (John  17:21).  That’s why I don’t say the above lightly.  Believe me, I love the United Methodist Church.  It has been, since my early childhood, the place that taught me about God, Jesus, discipleship, love, compassion, justice, forgiveness, and faith.  If we divided, I would grieve. 

And to further complicate things, I do actually believe that we can only truly be the body of Christ together.  All of us, from D.C. to Yamoussoukro, from incense-wielding Catholics to slain in the Spirit Pentecostals.  The United Methodist Church only represents part of this diversity of the body of Christ, but it does represent a lot of diversity, nationally and globally.  And that’s good.  I value that.  I value being in community with people who are different from me, and even with people with whom I disagree.  I know I have things to learn from them.  So yes—I value unity.

It’s just that when I look at the church, even now, unity isn’t what I see.

That’s why I’ve had this edited version of Patrick Henry and Jeremiah running through my head this week: “Gentlemen [and women] may cry ‘Unity, unity’,” I hear them say, “but there is no unity!”

The way I see it, there is no unity when loyal, lifetime United Methodists are already being told (directly or indirectly) that their families are unwelcome in church, because their families are “incompatible with Christian teaching.”

There is no unity when homosexual young adults are already being told they have to choose between answering a call to ministry and being in a fulfilling, committed relationship.

There is no unity when pastors are already required to draw a line between couples they can marry, and couples they can’t.

And most importantly, there is no unity when people have already left the church because they can’t support injustice and inhospitality, or when people have never bothered to enter a church because they associate Christianity with bigotry and homophobia.

There is no unity because, if “committing to disagree with compassion, grace, and love” means maintaining the status quo, we have already tacitly chosen schism.  No, it’s not the dramatic, knock-down-drag-out schism we fear.  It’s not the kind of schism where you have to sue each other for church property.  Instead, it’s a quiet, invisible schism between those who are fully welcome inside the walls of the church, and those who are not.

The choice Hamilton and Slaughter give us between schism and “respectful co-existence” may sound like a clear choice, but it is a false one.  We’re not choosing between schism and unity here.  We’re choosing between schism and schism.

So, then, the question becomes: schism along what lines?  Do we choose the schism that comes from standing up for justice, or the schism that comes from crying “Unity, unity!”?

After the vote last week, I heard and read several different responses from LGBT friends.  “I refuse to leave,” said one, “because I believe that love will win.”  I admire that, because it’s a response that refuses to be run off, that refuses to believe that the way things are is the way that have to be, that refuses to stop fighting for justice from the inside.

“I will always be Methodist,” said another, “but it’s finally time for me to look for a non-UMC church.”  I admire that too, because it’s a response that refuses to stay in a church that tells him God didn’t make him for the same kind of love as everyone else.

Stay and fight, or divide with grace?  I don’t know the answer, but I am interested in a real conversation.  There’s a part of me that thinks we’d be better off to go our separate ways, those of us who are in favor of full inclusion of LGBT people in the life of the church, and those who are not.  We don’t have to hate each other.  We don’t have to stop talking to each other.  We don’t have to stop praying for each other.  Maybe, idealistically, we could still handle the whole thing with “compassion, grace, and love,” still “understand the concerns of the other.”  But why not do it with separate polities, each group aligning its common life with the Gospel according to its best understanding?

But even if separate polities aren’t the best answer, let’s at least stop paying so much lip service to unity.  No matter how many times we say the word, the truth is that there is no unity.  Stay and fight or divide with grace, let’s tell it like it is: we’re guilty of schism either way.