Commitment to Grace: Why I Won’t Give Up on the Methodist Church
by: Kara Crawford
I am a self-avowed, practicing United Methodist [1]. I’m a Christian. I identify with an institutionalized religion. I’m a citizen of Queerville, and I’ve had an ongoing love affair with the United Methodist Church for my whole life. You read all of that correctly.
Being the daughter of two United Methodist pastors, it was almost inevitable that a good part of my childhood was spent, surprise, in United Methodist churches–among many, many United Methodists. The UMC has been an integral part of my whole life. Think what you may about organized religion, but for me, being United Methodist has radically shaped my life. It played a critical role in who I became, what I have done and continue to do in my life.
So let’s start from the beginning, shall we? As you all now know, I was born into what is probably one of the most United Methodist families possible, both of my parents being clergy, and because I didn’t have a terrible experience of being a pastor’s kid [2], I didn’t become a stereotypically rebellious one. That, compiled with a lot of positive experiences, is what has kept me around.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a chosen family made up of United Methodists from all over Illinois–and as I progressed in age, all over the U.S. and world. This big, crazy, diverse family including adoptive aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, parents, grandparents, poly-platonic life partners [3] and everything imaginable in between. I don’t mean all of this in the cheesy “Christian family” way, either, and I have the UMC to thank for each and every one of those connections.
Around my sophomore year of high school, I became passionately involved in work for social justice, and the UMC gave me a perfect basis for that work. For centuries, The UMC and its predecessors have been deeply involved in work for social justice and have served as a prophetic voice speaking to social issues which we face in the U.S. and around the world. John Wesley, founder of the Methodist movement, was even quoted as saying, “The gospel of Christ knows no religion, but social; no holiness but social holiness.”
But every rose has its thorns. The United Methodist Social Principles, which serve as a guide for The UMC’s social justice work, state” “The United Methodist Church does not condone the practice of homosexuality and considers it incompatible with Christian teaching.” In addition, “self-avowed practicing homosexuals” [4] are not allowed to be ordained, and United Methodist pastors and churches are not allowed to officiate or host a same-sex marriage, according to our Book of Discipline.
So, you might ask, how could I stick around, in light of this? Why would I continue to identify with and participate in a system that practices such exclusion? These are the questions that many of my progressive and queer United Methodist friends and I wrestle with on a daily basis.
They’re not easy questions either–because, for many of us, they are met by conflicting questions. How could we abandon the church which has been such an integral part of our community and lives for so long? What good would it be to simply give up hope for change? I can’t speak for all such conflicted individuals, but I certainly know what keeps me around.
In addition to my community, to the outlets I have found for my social justice work, I find that there are certain parts of the United Methodist DNA which have also become part of my spiritual DNA. The first of these is the concept of grace. Grace is a boundless love, not constricted by the assumed or real faults and failings of one party of the relationship. [5]
The harsh truth, I believe, is that in many ways, The United Methodist Church has failed in its call to grace. While it does not actively exclude queer folks, the aforementioned statements certainly do not seek deeper inclusion. But does that mean I should stop extending it the same grace I wish to see it practice?
Absolutely not; in fact, quite the opposite. I feel that I must extend grace even to those who may not love me back. Even if that lack of grace is sometimes embodied in the church I love, which in spite of its being a flawed institution, is still a place which I have found to be of love, community and acceptance.
What adds to this feeling of love, community and acceptance which I have experienced throughout my life is the United Methodist practice of open communion. I don’t see communion so much as munching on the body and blood of Christ; I see it as sharing in a community. [6]
For me, there’s something mystical about taking the communion elements and knowing that there are millions of other Christians around the world sharing in that common union–that communion. And that the UMC practices open communion, does not turn anyone away from this unity, adds to that feeling a sense of inclusion.
I hope that the unity we find through communion might bring us to a place of reconciliation and true inclusion, that the UMC would practice not only open communion but also the “Open Hearts, Open Minds, and Open Doors” that it has been promising for so many years. I believe it’s going to take more than a change of the UMC’s policy to reach this point. It will require all parties of the relationship to extend grace to all others, even those who they disagree with.
But I believe that a truly United Methodist Church is a possibility. I love the UMC enough to not give up, to continue being part of the struggle to make that change. If that means sticking around for the heartache associated with not leaving, so be it. Because in this love, as with any great love, there is always great heartache. It’s what I do with that heartache that ultimately matters.
Kara Johansen Crawford is a graduate of DePaul University, with a BA in International Studies and Peace, Justice and Conflict Studies. Kara has been actively involved in activism and community service for much of her life and is particularly passionate about labor justice, queer issues and engaging faith communities on social issues. Kara is currently serving as a Mission Intern with the United Methodist Church at the Centro Popular para América Latina de Comunicación, based in Bogotá, Colombia. Follow Kara on Twitter @revolUMCionaria and on her blog.
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[1] If this phrasing doesn’t make sense to you, it soon will.
[2] See: Footloose.
[3] Hint: we call ourselves The Unit, and the other two are also IOW writers. But who…?
[4] See my first footnote. Now you get it.
[5] I’m not going to get into my thoughts on sin, because it would lead to a long and complex conversation, but let’s just say I’m not going to go all “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” on y’all.
[6] I believe the act of communion not only to be consuming bread and wine/grape juice in community, but really just sharing in community, like in the case of a potluck. And you’d better believe we United Methodists love our potlucks.
Kara wrote: “They’re not easy questions either–because, for many of us, they are met by conflicting questions. How could we abandon the church which has been such an integral part of our community and lives for so long? What good would it be to simply give up hope for change?”
Just a matter of 5-6 years ago I was a moderate republican. I was a methodist, a christian, a social justice advocate (mostly), and I thought that republicans were “more christian” than democrats or other political parties. When people would say that the way the republican party was treating the LGBT community was just like racist arguments of the 50s and 60s (or even justification arguments for slavery in the 1800s) then I would retort… “but it was the REPUBLICANS that fought most for the rights of African Americans and people of color in the 60s, and it is the Republicans that stand for human rights of unborn…” etc etc etc.
It took a paradigm shift of thinking for me to realize that just because you can point to one historical incident of right-doing, or because a group is doing some things right today that it doesn’t necessarily make them the best option overall, or the best platform to enact social justice and human rights in the grand scheme of things.
I use this example because now my mind battles with the same thinking when I consider what my role in the UMC should be. I’ve been UM for about 10 years. I did not grow up in that tradition, and the reason I loved and still try to love the UMC was because they value social justice and human rights within the context of a wide community connection which transcends the individual or even the local church. This is impressive and continues to interest me. On the other hand, they have specific legal language in their governing documents that completely contradict their supposed institutional message of open hearts, open minds, and open doors. I have little patience anymore for those who try to quickly explain this away by saying that you can be all of those things and still not love the sins of murder, covetousness, or homosexuality.
See, for me, when we say we’re all connected, that also means that we’re responsible for each other in ways that are different from denominations and institutions that are more disconnected. By being all connected, your words and deeds affect mine far more directly. People on the outside can see this, and it isn’t surprising that they wrinkle their noses at me in disbelief when I try to explain, “well, my local UM church welcomes and affirms LGBT folks…” Well, yes, but we’re also the third biggest denomination in the USA and our governing documents radically un-affirm and single-out “homosexuals.” That is understandably hard to get past.
It took a paradigm shift for me to see that voting republican was probably doing more harm than good… but now that I’m on a different side of that coin (and no, I’m not a staunch corporate democrat instead) I see that it was a necessary choice to leave that behind in order to open my politics, worldview, and ministry to new horizons. Similarly, I ask myself frequently whether or not leaving the United Methodist system behind might similarly open new horizons that I can’t yet see for fear of holding tightly to the “kind-of good” work the UMC does.
For me, the decision I think will boil down to asking myself these questions. “Am I ok with lagging behind the good justice work being done for LGBT rights in the USA and the world as a whole in order to work in the micro-chasm of the church?” and “Will I do better work by changing society first and letting the church catch up, or does it really do any good to stay in an ‘always 10-15 years behind the curve’ environment (the church) and constantly fight an already old battle (for lack of a non-military metaphor) in order to bring about change for my LGBT neighbors?”
I’ll admit that I’m growing weary and impatient with the UMC.
I, too, was raised UMC. I fondly flip through my old bible, complete with 5-year-old me’s old name in bumbly scrawl. I haven’t been to a service in years, but if I were to go to a church, I’d probably pick UMC or an Episcopalian church. The older I get, the more I think about returning to some sort of religion… I like the structure. And I still feel a sense of pride being baptised UMC, even if I don’t practice, and even if I don’t know how feel about Christianity.
Thanks for writing about this. It’s got me thinking.
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