Features: March 2007

Renewing a Culture of Vocation by Marcia Clark Myers

Positive Contributions of Evangelicals to the Life of the PC(USA) by Winfield Casey Jones

The Path to Climate Sustainability by Global Roundtable on Climate Change

Bill Thompson, Choice, and Balance by Christian T. Iosso

Fighting Fair in Church by Riley E. Jensen

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by Riley E. Jensen

A sermon preached at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Grand Rapids, Michigan, on January 28, 2007.

Scripture text: Exodus 17:1-7

First, I have to open with a disclaimer, and hear this loud and clear. This morning’s sermon has not been occasioned by anything that is anticipated to come before today’s annual congregational meeting. This is not to deny that it might well have been preached before other congregational meetings. Therefore, please note, “Any correspondence to real people or events is purely coincidental.” But, because I don’t want to take too much edge off of the sermon, also note that “if the shoe fits, wear it!”

It may be that this theme is close to my heart because my own ministry began out of a church conflict. As many of you know, part of the process of becoming an ordained minister has to do with being taken under the sponsorship of the regional unit of our church called a presbytery. This involves a series of committee interviews and an examination before the presbytery as a whole. As you can imagine, for a young candidate, this is a very impressive and anxiety-producing experience. Generally, representatives of your home church are there to hold your hand and to say some nice things about you before the presbytery.

However, on the day that I was presented before Seattle Presbytery, my pastor announced that for reasons of conscience he was leaving the Presbyterian church. The church divided. A number of the members of that church chose to follow him, and the life and ministry of my home church has never been the same. It was a painful and uncertain time for me because a pastor whom I respected was choosing to go in a different direction.

That experience, happening as it did when my idealism for the church was at its height, was a formative one for me. Perhaps that is why I have always placed such a high value on the unity of the church. Perhaps that is why I have always resisted drawing a line in the sand to say that I would leave the church if this or that didn’t go my way.

And yet, we know that church conflicts happen just as they do in any meaningful relationship. When I do premarital counseling, I always ask the couple to describe their last argument. And when I am met with the glassy–eyed response that they have never had a serious disagreement, I file that away in the knowledge that either they are my first perfect couple or they have some rocky times ahead.

Conflict is a fact of life, and we will always have conflict in the church because we care so deeply about what we are doing here. We are strong people with strong opinions. Therefore, let us not pretend that everyone thinks the same and that there are no differences on things that matter. This morning I want us to admit the reality of conflict in the church, to think about how we handle it, and to commit ourselves to staying connected as we seek to work through it.

When a nuclear fission reaction reaches a certain point and a chain reaction that will emit an awesome and frightful burst of energy is imminent, the situation is said to have, “gone critical.” And if something is not done to disturb or break up the reaction almost immediately, the results will be explosive.

Whether the explosion will be a controlled beneficial release of energy—as experienced in a nuclear power generating plant, or a horrific destructive blast such as those that leveled Hiroshima and Nagasaki, depends on how the response is made in that “critical moment.”

You see, we make a mistake when we think of critical events, critical feedback, and critical people in purely negative terms. Our assumption that critical moments and critical remarks are always bad is so ingrained for most of us that we feel compelled to take special care to add the designation of “constructive” criticism or “friendly” criticism to anything that we realize might be somewhat helpful. For the most part, we are all notoriously bad at taking criticism.

After the election, I was struck by the graciousness and pragmatism of President Bush when he was asked how he could work with the new Speaker of the House, Nancy Pelosi after she had called him incompetent, dangerous, misguided, and a host of other unflattering adjectives. His gracious and pragmatic response was: “I have been in politics long enough to know that you will never get anything done if you hold grudges.”

In our Scripture lesson, we are presented with the example of Moses who took more than his share of criticism from disgruntled Israelites. If we read carefully and listen between the lines, it is clear that sometimes all the criticism and complaining got to Moses, shaking even his considerable faith. Nevertheless, I see him taking at least three positive steps to turn his critical moment into something constructive, rather than destructive.

We fight fair when we listen

First, we fight fair when we listen. This ability to listen to the other side is so frequently lost in the heat of battle.

Many of us have had that experience of seeking input from a friend, a co-worker, or a spouse; then, when it comes back as being more critical than we expected, feeling the hackles on the backs of our necks bristling with protective indignation. Others may experience a sinking sensation as their spirit and confidence drop into the pit of their stomach. Then, of course, there are the “ducks” among us—who nod seriously, smile and agree, while letting every word, every critique slide unexamined off our backs with absolutely no sign of penetration.

Rabbi Robert Alper talks about the voicemail used at a neighboring synagogue. He phoned one day and heard this message: “Welcome to Temple Beth Shalom. If you are calling from a touch-tone phone and would like membership information, press 1; for our service schedule, press 2; to complain to the Rabbi, press 3; to complain about the Rabbi, press 4, 5, or 6.”

I am sure that about this time on the journey, Moses was wondering to himself how he had ever gotten into such a mess. “I don’t need this,” he must have thought. “Don’t they know the long hours I’ve been working? Don’t they know we will never make it through the wilderness if we keep bickering among ourselves?” The biblical account gives us reason to believe that Moses had his own defensive moments. But in the end, he was able to get behind the whining and the screaming to hear the fear and insecurity driving those voices.

Those who simply ignore criticism are certain to become yesterday’s news before the sun even sets. Listening to the critical voices around us, no matter how raspy or redundant, cannot hurt our hearing; it can only make it more acute and more sensitive to change. Even the most intentionally hurtful criticism has a grain of truth buried in it. In Moses’ case, the Israelites’ complaints reminded him of how dependent the people were on him for their constant care and well-being. This reminder in turn confirmed to Moses his own dependence on the Lord for his strength and ability to lead.

When We Learn

Secondly, we are helped to deal with conflict not only when we listen, but when we learn. The great nineteenth century pulpit prince, Henry Ward Beecher, was involved in many a controversial situation. One time after he had taken sides on a particularly perplexing and vexing subject, he received a letter with only one word in it: “Fool.”

The next Sunday, Beecher took the letter with him into the pulpit and said, “In my lifetime, I have received many letters from people who forgot to sign their names. But this is the first time I have ever received a letter from a person who signed his name and forgot to write the letter.”

There is not much to learn from name-calling. That is why the experience of another great preacher is a bit more instructive. The English Divine, Charles Spurgeon, once had the experience of receiving a series of anonymous letters that were hypercritical of his sermons. Week after week the letters arrived, dissecting without mercy his efforts in the pulpit. In later years, Spurgeon said he would like to know who had written the letters because more than any other person, that anonymous critic had helped his preaching grow and develop.

Now what about Moses! What could he have learned from this grumbling and curmudgeonly people? His great insight of learning was certainly not that he was leading a headstrong demanding crowd—he already knew that. But what he did learn was that he could not do everything himself.

One of the critical comments that Moses heeded came in fact not from the Hebrews themselves, but from Yahweh, his God. When Moses felt at a loss, overwhelmed, and berated by his people, the Lord God told him to consult with others and to allow others to share the load with him. And so he did. He invited the elders along with him as he made his way to that lonely rock.

Why did it take Moses so long to figure out such a simple thing? Probably for the same reason that most of us resist sharing our burdens with another. We are used to doing things on our own and we have been taught that is a sign of strength. But, you see, God isn’t as interested in creating heroes as in build a community that will take a chance on partnership and will help carry each others’ burdens. Someone has said, “Isn’t it interesting what can be accomplished when you don’t care who gets the credit!”

When We Keep Moving

Finally, listening and learning will help us to deal with criticism and conflict, only if we don’t get immobilized. Yes, we need to listen. Yes, we need to learn. But then we need to keep moving. Sometimes the hardest kind of criticism to deal with is the kind that is rooted in mean-spiritedness. In my own ministry, I have been fortunate never to have had to deal with conflict that was rooted in mean-spiritedness.

I take that back! There was one occasion when a series of anonymous letters were circulated that contained half-truths and partial truths. For a period of time, the session worked very hard to listen and to learn from those letters. But they soon learned that it is difficult to engage in constructive dialogue when one side is unwilling to sit down at the table.

The lesson learned from Moses is that when criticism is mean-spirited, it must never paralyze us. It must not prevent us from continuing to focus upon the mission to which we have been called. The cutting critical remarks that stung Moses didn’t stop him; he kept moving. First he turned to the Lord for advice, then to other voices he trusted, then he got going. Moses felt the care of his God, so that even in the face of criticism and conflict he could keep his eyes on the larger goal and move ahead.

You see, faithful discipleship means listening to criticism, certainly learning from it, but not getting bogged down by it. We all know that a favorite technique of modern political campaigning is to raise an issue, force a candidate to start defending herself, and then to raise another issue, keeping that person on the defensive. It is one thing to listen and learn, but the mission must always be kept in sight.

The fact of the matter is that in some churches intramural bickering becomes a way of life. When that happens, the entire atmosphere becomes polluted and any sense of mission is lost. I like the story of Michelangelo who was once asked to judge another person’s painting — in this case, it was someone who couldn’t light a candle to his own genius. Michelangelo proceeded to judge the painting by pointing out some of the most positive features exhibited by the artist. Another painter came up to him and accused him of not being honest in his criticism, to which Michelangelo replied, “I criticize by creating.”

My friends, we know that we are an imperfect people, and we know that we are an imperfect institution. Hopefully, the highest form of criticism we will render will be to offer ourselves and our gifts in the creation of something better.

May it be so!

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