A Wee Blether

Last Sunday night I attended a hymn sing in Montreat. I’m not sure how long these Sunday evening sings have occurred, but they seem quite the tradition. The average age skews fairly high (as does Montreat’s cottager population in general,) but there’s also a good intergenerational mix.

As in many “y’all come” hymn sings, those who show up get to pick the hymns. The leader will then spice things up with some instructions as to whom might sing what parts and similar such funness. Heck, I’m a hymn nerd, I enjoy singing, and social situations are great too…ergo, I love the hymn sings.

But, last Sunday night, an odd thing happened. Or, at least, it was odd if you know just a little about Presbyterian history.

After thirty minutes of people shouting out hymns to sing, I thought it strange, but held my tongue. After another ten, I got real nervous. After a few more minutes, I gave up, spoke up, and took things into my own hands.

I requested we sing a psalm.

After 45 minutes, this group of mainly older Presbyterians had requested many a favorite hymn, several topical hymns for evening, and few noting July 4th, but not one psalm.

Psalm singing is our tradition. For many many years, Presbyterians ONLY sang psalms. Calvin was all about psalms. We still use many tunes from the Genevan psalter. Oh, and that Knox guy and his Scottish friends came up with a darn good psalter of their own. “What do Presbyterians bring to the interdenominational hymn sing pot luck supper?” Psalms. The answer is psalms. (Lutherans have some fancy fun chorales, Methodists bring Wesley…and Wesley, Anglicans at least have some chants, and so on…) But Presbyterians bring psalms, right?

Well, from this tiny sample size, at least, psalms haven’t stuck in people’s hearts and heads like they used to. I’m all for singing new texts, but I’m worried that those younger generations at the hymn sing will grow up without knowing, without singing their heritage. So I can’t wait for next week’s hymn sing. I already know what I’ll request. I have 150 options.

image by Julia Freeman-Woolpert

Preach the gospel at all times; when necessary, use words.

St. Francis preached plenty, but he never used those words. That, at least, according to his biographer Mark Galli.

It’s one of those fantastic quotes that sometimes gets things just right. Us Christians tend to be a bit too wordy. Not enough action. So when one uses the quote, it feels only right to attribute it. And recent tradition has done so to St. Francis of Assisi.

But as Galli writes in the article “Speak the Gospel” in Christianity Today online, the quote wasn’t attributed to Francis in the first two hundred years following his death and, in actual fact, Francis was a darn good preacher of words — turns out that’s what made him famous in his own day.

It’s an overused quote, but a good one I suppose in a culture that likes its sound-bytes and emotive phrases. And, heck, I’ll probably refer to it again before too long. But, thanks to Mr. Galli, I shall do so without attribution. Those words seem necessary.

This post is the second in a two part series exploring the implications of Brafman and Beckstrom’s The Spider and the Starfish: The Unstoppable Power of Leaderless Organizations for the Prebyterian Church (USA).  For part I, an overview of the book, go here.

Which pointy-limbed creature is the PC(USA)? Starfish or Spider?

First and foremost, a distinction between the church universal and individual denominations seems necessary.

The church universal does not have a center; it does not have a spider’s head. It perhaps has “centers”–Rome, Colorado, South Africa, Seoul–but the church universal is a decentralized faith. Or, speaking theologically, the claim that Christ is head of the church leads to a decentralized starfish like faith. This is great in terms of Christianity’s survival. There’s no one person in charge. There are no headquarters. If you take out a denomination–or even an entire stream (say, Lutherans) the faith still survives. Knowledge and power is distributed all over the world. Units are self-funding. You cannot accurately count the participants. Thinking of the church universal is thinking of a starfish organization.

Denominations, on the other hand, can function in much more spider-like ways. I’ll consign the rest of my denominational comments to the Presbyterian Church (USA), my tribe, which I know well.

First, I’ll turn to the starfish/spider characteristics as applying to the PC(USA). Is there someone in charge? Yes, two some ones, in fact (or maybe three). We have the moderator of the last General Assembly. The stated clerk, elected to serve a term of several years. And the chair of the General Assembly Council. These folks do the work of the church, the work assigned them by PC(USA) members and they wouldn’t want to be thought of as the head of the church (right Bruce?, right Gradye?), but they do function in many ways as “in charge,” perhaps leaning towards a spider-like structure.

Next, the PC(USA) does have a headquarters called “The Presbyterian Center” in fact: spider. But, on the other hand, if one took out the center (sorry Louisville), the denomination would still function. It’d be severely impaired, but our polity has enough framework in place for the denomination to survive: starfish. Does the PC(USA) have a clear division of roles? Depends who you ask, and what you’re speaking of. Thinking of worship, for instance, we are clear that only ministers of Word and Sacrament may perform the sacraments. But, any person may preach, teach in church, or say the benediction. Muddying the waters even more are the specific instructions as to whom arranges worship: the minister chooses the scripture lessons, but the session decides what time worship is held. The minister presides at communion, but the session authorizes how many times it is celebrated. The minister is responsible for “the music to be sung” in worship, but the session is responsible for “the overall program of music and other arts in the church.” And that’s just worship! Brafman and Beckstrom ask to distinguish spiders from starfish, “is there ‘a clear division of roles’ or ‘an amorphous division?’” Might us in the PC(USA) say “both?”

Similarly, the PC(USA) is both remarkable rigid (spider) and flexible (starfish). We are rigid, for instance, in our ordination process. Pages of the constitution are dedicated to describing the appropriate steps to take before becoming ordained to the office of Minister of the Word and Sacrament. But, that said, I have heard of persons ordained to the office of elder who are not even members of a PC(USA) congregation. The constitution, by some, is not treated in a particularly rigid manner. In my experience, different congregations can be remarkably rigid or flexible themselves. I’ve seen congregations gather hundreds of people with just a few hour’s warning to serve in an emergency. I’ve also seen session meetings last three hours and accomplish precious little. Overall, the PC(USA)’s history of having teaching elders (minister) and ruling elders (elders who “measured out” fidelity to the gospel) is an exercise in flexible rigity. Or, perhaps, rigid flexibility. So, perhaps, neither a spider nor a starfish.

The PC(USA) does keep careful statistics and we can count our members: spider (unlike Alcoholics Anonymous, for instance, which does not even know how many AA chapters exist). But, working groups (or congregations) can and do communicate with one another directly: starfish. Also, though, they communicate with one another through the presbytery, so that’s another someone hybrid characteristic.

Finally, a characteristic that distinguishes starfish and spiders is their funding sources. Again, the PC(USA) is somewhat hybrid. It’s starfish-like in that congregations are self-funding (unlike, say, our brothers and sisters in the Church of Scotland). That said, individual congregations are required to pay a per capita allowance to the national church. Fascinating, though, is the trend for churches unhappy with the actions of the General Assembly to withhold per capita. Withholding per capita, it seems to me, is an attempt to injure the spider’s head; it’s an attack at centralization. Interestingly, however, the churches withholding funds often do so out of anger regarding moves toward the changing of ordination standards to allow more people to be ordained–a starfish characteristic–and the churches who withhold tend to function with a slightly more hierarchical ecclesiology (spider).

Also, consider the founding of new PC(USA) churches, or New Church Developments (NCDs). The funding for NCDs usually comes, in large part, from the presbytery or perhaps another multi-congregational body. So even our new churches are funded by a centralized (and spider) system.

In my estimation, the PC(USA) is neither a starfish or a spider but a hybrid organization. In the book, a business expert explains of Toyota, “I taught them that top management is a function and a responsibility rather than a rank and a privilege” (185). This car management philosophy echoes precisely our Presbyterian theology of ordination–officers are ordained not to a higher or lower calling, but to a responsibility.

The challenge of the PC(USA) is to find “enough decentralization for creativity, but sufficient structure and controls to ensure” faithfulness (191). We also do this with an added challenge Brafman and Beckstrom do not address–honoring our tradition, being led by the word, and always seeking to follow the new movements of Holy Spirit.

Andy over at A Reforming State of Mind asked me to contribute to a blog series he’s running, answering the question, “What is the Peace of Christ?”  Here’s my shot in the dark… (Comment here, or at Andy’s.)

Yesterday’s gospel lectionary passage illustrates the peace of Christ just beautifully – no really, stay with me. It’s a tricky text, Matthew 18:15-20 in which Jesus explains, to the disciples, how to deal with the age-old problem of church members sinning against one another. Yeah, sad but true: even back in Jesus’ day, the church wasn’t exactly the model of perfection. 

So Jesus, being a fancy teacher and such, offers a three step plan. First, speak to the person who has sinned against you by yourself. Second, if that doesn’t work out so hot, bring along some witnesses and try again. Third, if the member still refuses to listen, tell it to the church. And if that last step doesn’t solve things, well, shucks. That sinner, Jesus says, should be understood as nothing more than a Gentile or a tax collector.

On first reading, Jesus seems to be a bit prickly. Maybe he had had too much people time or something, but doesn’t casting off a church member seem a bit harsh to you? Ouch, Jesus, that hurts.

And then the writer of Matthew smiles. And the reader begins to chuckle. And Jesus let’s out a big belly laugh himself.

Treat them as nothing more than a Gentile or tax collector, Jesus says. And we meanies are more than happy to cast them away. And then, smiling at Jesus’ trickery, we remember how Jesus himself treats Gentiles and tax collector. He welcomes them. He includes them. He loves them. He shrugs off society’s judgmental mentality and embraces the other as only God can.

Matthew 18 reminds of the peace of Christ because it’s surprising, it’s difficult, and it’s a call challenging us to move beyond our first impressions. Christ’s peace just laughs at our pettiness, smiles at our snarkiness, and grins at our misconceptions. Christ’s peace is fuller, deeper, stronger, and vaster than anything we can imagine.

We, too, can witness this peace when we move beyond our first impression to where Christ truly calls us. Seeing that immigrant not as “illegal” but as a child of God -Christ’s peace. Seeing that rich man as more than a wallet and an ego – Christ’s peace. Seeing our call not as one to please society but one to follow Christ – Christ’s peace.

The peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.

image by ilco