Seeking Forgiveness in a Black and White World

Forgiveness starts with an admission of guilt – our own.

At the foot of the Cross we’re all equals.

            I was born white.  Though I did not realize it at the time.  Apparently, it was a big deal within the world around me. 

            I was born in 1962 in the city of Trenton, NJ.  The sixties and the seventies were a very turbulent time in the United States.  It was the era of the Cuban missile crisis, the wave of assassinations of very prominent leaders like John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Bobby Kennedy. Senator McCarthy was propagating fear over Communism.  The strains and stirrings of the Vietnam War were making headlines, as well as the vast numbers of protests, draft card burnings, rebellious hippies, free sex, major drug experimentation, and overall emotional, physical, and spiritual chaos. People seemed to be angry and rebellious at everything. 

            As a kid, while I didn’t really understand all of the political and societal ramifications of what was going on in the world, I do remember feeling the anxiety of my surroundings.  Generally, I was a pretty innocent kid.  My dad was a city police officer and my mom, prior to her staying home with us kids, was an Emergency Room nurse at a local city hospital.  To keep their kids intact on all fronts, I remember specific things that they did.  For example, to keep my brothers and I away from the prevalent drug scene, when we were old enough to understand, they showed us “deterrent movies” – movies of actual people who had overdosed getting their stomachs pumped.  I can still see the tubes going down their throats and noses in order to vacate the drugs from their bodies, and their vacant expressions as the doctors tried to save their lives.  I must say, the movies worked. 

            I also remember my parents taking us to church.  Our church was a city church, just on the edge of merging ethnic neighborhoods.  In its heyday, it was a relatively large Episcopal church, primarily white, and more or less middle to upper middle class.  My parents connected with the congregation through the police chaplain. Relatively soon after we joined, a new pastor arrived.  That pastor, a white man, was a strong voice for social justice.  He had marched with Martin Luther King, Jr. in King’s ground swelling march in Alabama.  Because of his high commitment to justice and to the “plight of blacks,” our pastor systematically invited more and more black families to our church . . . preaching against “rich white values” and subsequently offending the majority of the “rich white people in the pews.”  Within a few years that relatively large, middle to upper middle class church had experienced a significant turn-around in membership demographics. Many of those rich white families left the church and took their financial support with them. Because of the shift, we soon found ourselves with another new pastor.  The new pastor that was hired was of an opposite theological framework and soon began to offend the black families that were attending. Within a short time span, this once large church now had around fifty people on any given Sunday. Yet another pastor was helped to the exit door.

The five of us in my family were among those fifty who stayed.  My parents believed that God created all humanity and we were called to love everyone as equals.  Their willingness to ride through the waves of burgeoning racism and civil unrest as it impacted our church was a commitment to a higher principle, a biblical principle – namely, love – that would go miles in teaching me about the heart of God in a trying world.  That world was being severely challenged.

            Yet, through all of those experiences, I was being taught incredible life lessons about people, about the kind of love that crosses barriers, about the power of that love to heal that which divides us.  They were lessons that stayed with me… even though, many times, they were challenged by the world around me.

Madeline

Growing up in the city meant that my brothers and I would go to the city public school system.  The neighborhood where I grew up was not what you would call “minority dominant,” by any stretch of the imagination. Yet there was rapidly expanding diversity within our neighborhood as well as the school system of which we were a part. 

            I remember very clearly an incident that occurred when I was in fourth grade.  It was during that year that “desegregation” began for our school district and black kids were being bussed to my particular school from various other areas of the district.  One such kid was Madeline.  Madeline was an innocent-minded girl.  In our way of comparing ourselves as kids, she was quite overweight—the largest kid in our class, weight-wise. Generally, she had a peaceable attitude about life.  Rarely would you hear her speak two words, but when she did it usually was to offer you something – a flower, a pretzel stick from her snack bag, a picture that she drew.  I knew that because alphabetically I sat next to her in class every day. Every day, she offered me something from her bag. Every day there was a new, gentle invitation to friendship and a smile.

Truth be told, she was (by our standards today) a child with significant learning disabilities and that provided her with great academic and social challenges.  Back then, in the harsh realities of the 60s, as well as the harsher realities of childhood meanness, she gained the reputation of being a “slow, fat, black kid.”

            One day, while a group of us kids were in the school playground area for lunch recess, we got on the topic of race and how other kids were different from us.  Several of my friends were vehement in defending their (or their parents’) position that black kids were not to be trusted, that they were inherently bad and somehow of lesser value than whites.  Being painfully introverted, I didn’t say anything, but simply listened and watched.  At one point, one of the boys looked straight at me and demanded, “What do you think?”

            The question put me on the spot.  My response came out of my mouth before I had time to think. 

“I think we should love everybody,” I replied quietly, reflecting the lessons that had impacted me from my years growing up in my family and in Sunday School. 

The group was silent for a split second.  Then my adversary challenged me.  “Love everybody?!” He began to look around until he spotted his intended verbal illustration.  “Love everybody?  Do you love even her? Even her??”  He was pointing at Madeline.

His question was angry and baiting.  In that moment, I felt my face turn red.  I was scared.  Really scared.  Something deep inside of me knew that this was one of those moments in time that would forever mark me – and I wished I had stayed home.  My eyes darted over to Madeline – who was eating cookies from her snack bag and watching us with her typical, innocent, welcoming smile - and then back to the faces of the boys now staring at me from the circle.  There was no help from the group – not even from my friends. 

  I remember thinking, “How do I answer this question?”  If I say, “yes,” I run the risk of being alienated from my friends.  If I say, “no,” I go against everything that I trusted in how my parents raised me.

  “Yes,” I replied, in a whisper.  “Even Madeline.”

  The response was immediate.  My challenger laughed callously and began taunting me, “David loves Madeline. David loves Madeline.  David loves….”  His voice trailed off as he and all the other boys – including the one boy who had been my closest friend - took up the chorus and left me standing alone, dejected.  In one swooping motion, one simple response, I lost my innocence in the world and paid a price – my first price with the inequities of injustice (if, indeed, a white boy in the late 1960s could even fathom a moment of being rejected by friends as being comparable to Madeline’s and every other African American child’s experience). 

  I looked over at Madeline and I hated her. 

  I know now, as an adult, that I was projecting onto her the feelings of rejection that I was experiencing because I spoke what I believed in, what I was taught, what should have been the standard of a fourth grader’s world view.  But in that moment, in real time, I hated her.  I hated the differences that separated us, the differences that created the dilemma that I, moments ago, had to face.

  I’m not sure what she thought or heard of our little group’s conversation, but after a moment, she walked over to me and without saying a word, offered me one of the cookies from her bag. 

  I didn’t realize it at the time, but that moment . . . it was a moment of Holy Communion and it had its powerful impact on my young heart.  My hatred toward her turned to shame.  I was ashamed of my hatred, ashamed that I somehow failed both Madeline and myself, ashamed that I actually wasn’t sure that I wanted to be a defender of integrity if it meant not having any friends. 

  Yet, reflecting back, it was in that moment, as I looked at Madeline’s innocent, smiling face, it was as if two rejected people – each rejected in very different ways, for very different reasons – met at the foot of the Cross of Christ within the playground of the sinfulness of humanity.   God was performing a grace moment on a school playground - using an innocent young African American girl who represented an entire race – to confront racism and its ramifications in a young white boy whose Christian-educated trusting heart was being severely tested. God was exposing something to me – and in me – that would forever change me, awaken me.

  There is always a price to be paid for standing up for what you believe.  Fear and faith must battle it out within our own hearts and minds and souls – time after time, through many practice runs, until we decide on what we will stand . . . and then indeed stand.

            In reality, forgiveness cannot truly be discovered apart from a confession of guilt.  The first law that governs a life of forgiveness for everyone who truly seeks it is that forgiveness starts with an admission of guilt – our own. For at the foot of the Cross, we’re all equals.  Only when a person comes to terms with this first law will we ever know the true healing, God-given gift of forgiveness. 

            In truth, now as a 57 year old white pastor, I would want to say to Madeline, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what we white kids put you through. And I’m sorry that nearly 50 years hasn’t really changed the societal heart that still assumes white superiority -- when in fact, any superiority complex really reflects deep-seated insecurity and over-compensating fear. And on behalf of many white people, could you ever forgive us . . . could you ever forgive me . . .  for the hurt, the pain, the grief, the loss, the challenges, the suspicions, the threats, the biases, the profiling, the lynchings, the name-calling, the shaming . . .? There are no words. There are no excuses. But I know that I don’t ever want to be associated with that kind of evil.”

            We’re meant to love everyone. Every. One.

            My baiting, taunting adversary from that circle of white boys would, within the coming year, become the school bully who would beat me up one day after school, for no reason that I knew, while his friend (my former friend) held my arms behind my back so that I could not defend myself. Racism, and all sins of arrogant and insecure pride, replicate themselves like a mutating virus—becoming a virulent pandemic unless checked by those who choose not to tolerate it.

            Whether in a playground or in a pulpit, whether on a street beside a car or on a motel balcony, whether rioting in St. Paul, MN in order to be heard or walking peacefully to the Lincoln Memorial, we must believe that what is on the other side of hatred and anger and racism and fear can be better. For a voice of love – especially sung spiritually from the collective hearts of a generationally persecuted people – has the greatest capacity to pierce through the darkest night with the light of hope. We shall overcome, indeed.

            I learned that—and am still learning that—from a sweet, innocent African-American girl caught in the battles of racism, desegregation and white privilege . . . who reached across the divided playground to offer me a cookie.

Maskism

This past week, I discovered something about myself that’s really hard for me to admit out loud.

I’m struggling with “maskism.” I’m a “maskist.”

I’ve noticed it building inside of me for several weeks now, but this past week, when I was at the grocery store, I realized that it was consuming me on the inside, affecting my attitude, and causing me to think bad thoughts about people.

When I go out in public, I wear a mask. I have a clear agenda in wearing my mask – and that is to protect everyone else around me. I know that the mask that I wear is not going to prevent me from getting the COVID-19 virus, but I’m wearing it because I am choosing to honor others – and others don’t know if I have the virus or not. They don’t know where I’ve been or with whom I’ve been --- so they’re trusting me to wear my mask so that I don’t give to them whatever I might have.

But not everyone else wears a mask in public.

And now, when I see those mask-less people, I find myself developing a bad attitude toward them. I find myself getting angry with them. I find myself judging them – because I begin to think that they really don’t care about me. Regardless of what they believe about their right to not wear a mask, I find myself not trusting them. When I see them, I begin to wonder...

 ·      Are they intentionally trying to put my life – and everyone else’s lives – in jeopardy?

·      Are they assuming that because of who they are, no virus would dare come near them?

·      Are they not aware of the impact one person’s choices can have on an entire community?

And then my thoughts move toward ...

·      They must be bad people

·      They must be ignorant people

·      They should be kicked out of this store... “No mask, no service!”

And then I see the “half-masks” – those people who cover their mouths, but not their noses. Now, what are they thinking? In my attitude, I’ve now classified them along with the “mask-less” ones.

But then, this past week, it hit me. I realized that fear and anger have the capacity to overwhelm my faith. They have the capacity to alter my reality... and change my attitude.

I mean, what if the person without a mask...

·      can’t afford one?

·      Is homeless?

·      Just got fired?

·      Is depressed because someone they love just died?

·      Is a single mom who worked a 12 hour shift and realized on the way home that she needed to pick up dinner for her kids, but completely forgot about bringing a mask?

Or maybe they are choosing not to conform for other reasons.

I realized that I’m struggling with maskism.

My name is David Woolverton. I’m a pastor. And I’m a maskist.

Now, you may think that I’m mocking racism or sexism or ageism or genderism – but I’m really not trying to. While I am using a tad bit of humor (okay, sarcasm), what I’m trying to point out in all of us is that our behavior towards others who are different, often based on fear, or anger, or hatred, can expose some very important clues about the parts of us that still need God’s healing touch – especially those parts in us that flirt with evil.

Recently, we as a society had to face into that ever-present evil when we heard about a young African-American man named Ahmaud who went out for a run and was subsequently tracked down and murdered—just because of the color of his skin. I don’t know about you, but that’s just not acceptable to me. And it shouldn’t be to any of us. But there are people who tried to justify Ahmaud’s murder. We do that when evil things in us are exposed---we get defensive and then we blame – all to vindicate ourselves and vilify those who are genuine victims of our abuse. And it all tells a story.

What’s it say about us?

In his first letter to Christians scattered throughout Asia Minor, the apostle Peter teaches us that our witness for Jesus is more important than anything else – that how we treat each other, and even how we treat those who are unkind to us, shows others who Jesus is.

So, how we love each other – and how we love those who are different from us – it all shows others who Jesus is. And it lets them know that we are His followers.

 Peter is writing to Christians who have been struggling under opposition, oppression and persecution – especially under the reign of the Roman emperor, Nero. Peter’s letter contains his words of encouragement to those Christians to remember who they are, why they’re here and where they’re going. He knows that the opposition against Christians is actually going to intensify and so by chapter 4 of his letter, he writes:

 “Therefore, since Christ suffered in his body, arm yourselves also with the same attitude, because whoever suffers in the body is done with sin.” ~ 1 Peter 4:1

Notice a few things about this verse. First, notice the phrase, “arm yourselves also with the same attitude.” Peter uses the word “arm.” It’s a term used for preparation – especially in military language. And it’s in the imperative tense, which means he’s giving us a command. He’s being directive. He also uses a form of the word that means that those Christians have the ability to do those preparations themselves. In other words, Peter’s telling them to get prepared -- in advance -- for the opposition and oppression to get worse.

What do they need to prepare? Their attitude. Their mindset. Peter’s saying that they need to put on the same attitude that Jesus had – when He suffered, innocently, at the hands of those who treated Him unjustly. What was Jesus’s attitude? – The apostle Paul addresses that in Philippians 2:6-8 when he writes that Jesus:

 “did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!”

In Greek, the word Peter uses for attitude can also be translated as “thinking” or “intention.” So, Peter’s telling those early Christians (and us) that our mindset, our attitude needs to be one of humility, following in the footsteps of Jesus, especially serving one another.

In other words, for us today, it means that when I go out in public, I need to not only put on my mask, I need to put on my attitude of intentional love. Regardless of those whom I will meet and how prepared they are, I need to be prepared as an ambassador of hope. I need to allow my behavior – and my thoughts – to testify to the fact that Jesus has changed my life.

After all, changed lives, change lives.

Notice what Peter says in verse 8 –

“Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.”

I want to draw your attention to two things here. First, Peter uses the phrase, “Above all.” I’m a firm believer that love is the language of the Kingdom of God. We are to love each other with the kind of love that sacrifices itself for the sake of the other. If we’re not able to lead with love – especially in times when loving another is hard – then the other person is not the one with the problem, we are. As followers of Jesus, the Holy Spirit resides in us. And the Holy Spirit expresses Himself with certain characteristics. The apostle Paul calls those characteristics “the fruit of the Spirit” (Galatians 5): Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Each of these fruit is residential in potential waiting for us to call upon them to be used as we “arm ourselves” to go out into the world. WE are to be the light in the darkness. We cannot expect those who reside in darkness to shine a light that they don’t yet have.

Second, notice that Peter says, “love covers a multitude of sins.” He doesn’t say, “love covers up a multitude of sins.” Love doesn’t cover up anything. But it does cover over. Our mask doesn’t prevent us from getting the COVID-19 virus. But our mask can prevent others from getting it if we are the ones that have the virus.

Love covers over what we try to cover up.

Like Maskism. Or racism. Or hatred of any kind. Or fear.

Love exposes brokenness -- in us and in others – to the healing light of Christ.

That’s why Peter then turns to the topic of hospitality. In verse 9, he writes: “Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.” Hospitality takes love up several notches. It’s about making sacrifices and space in your life – and in your attitude – for those who are different, those who are strangers, those who are in need, those who require love even though they themselves may not realize it. In other words, hospitality is about creating space in our attitude for the stranger – however we are defining the word “stranger.”

In verses 12 – 19, Peter then draws the reader back to the suffering, to the persecution and oppression that are yet coming for those early believers.

In verse 12, he writes:

“Dear friends, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that has come on you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.” 

In other words, Peter says, as a follower of Jesus, you need to expect that trials and persecution and oppression and opposition are going to be coming your way. If what you represent is Love, and Love exposes that which is held captive in darkness, then you better be prepared for that darkness to push back. Every time God’s love invades a territory of darkness, there will be an equal and opposite force pushing back against it.

And when it does, Peter says,

13 But rejoice inasmuch as you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed. 14 If you are insulted because of the name of Christ, you are blessed, for the Spirit of glory and of God rests on you. 

Look at those words --- “rejoice” – “overjoyed” – “blessed.” It’s a shift in our mindset, isn’t it? It’s not easy to rejoice and to feel blessed when everything that you have is taken from you, when it feels like your rights and privileges are being violated, when what you thought was secure is now no longer trustworthy. But Peter says, remember who you are, why you’re here, and where you’re going... and hang on... the story’s not over yet.

Peter writes in verse 17 –“For it is time for judgment to begin with God’s household; and if it begins with us, what will the outcome be for those who do not obey the gospel of God?”

I could preach a whole series on just this one verse! But for now, notice that judgment, according to Peter, will begin with who? – with the Church – with those of us who have heard the Word of God, who have chosen to confess Jesus as Lord. We are going to be the ones who stand before the judgment seat of God first.

That means that the one who has to get his attitude adjustment first when facing a mask-less person at the grocery store is... me.

I’m a Maskist. But more importantly, I’m a child of the King, a child of the Most High God. I’m a follower of Jesus – a life that has been forever changed by the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.

If all of that is true – and I know it is – then I need to ask the Holy Spirit to increase His love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control in me. When I put on my mask to go out, I need to put on the heart of Christ as well.

What about you?

How to Fight Fair (in Church Battles)

I grew up in a row house in the Italian neighborhood in the city of Trenton, New Jersey. I am the youngest of three brothers, each approximately one year apart in birth order, who, along with my mom and dad, shared one bathroom. While difficult under normal circumstances, sharing that space once all three of us became eligible for the mantle of “teenager” became a source of major contention on many occasions. Especially during high school. . . when classes started at 8:00 AM and the only way to make it out of the house on time—appropriately quaffed, of course—was to get up earlier. . . earlier enough within the competitive demands of limited hot water.

We had to share other “spaces” too—much like most families of multiple siblings. Sometimes sharing was easy, sometimes not. Traversing those pathways of coming-of-age, hormonally charged battles of the will, set each of us up for what Herbert Spencer obviously meant when, in reflection on Charles Darwin’s theories on the origin of species, he referred to the “survival of the fittest.”

But brothers fight. So do sisters. It’s the inevitability of the human family dynamic. Within the constraints of forced coalescence of personality, power exertion, and idiosyncratic behavior patterns, we are invited not only to get along, but to love each other. We’re family, after all.

Even when we were fighting our battles on the home front, I knew that my brothers had my back out in the real world. When challenged, bullied, mocked or threatened, I knew that my brothers would step in as necessary. It was okay for brothers to abuse each other, but not okay for others to do so. We’re family, after all.

Learning how to navigate home-field battles actually prepares us for dealing with battles of personality, power and behavior patterns in the Church. As we mature in our walk of faith, followers of Jesus are meant to hold to the higher standards of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23) as we interact with each other; indeed, we are meant to wash each other’s feet (John 13), in imitation of our Lord, Jesus, who didn’t come to be served but to serve. . . and to give His life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45). We’re His family, after all.

During conflicts, the integrity of who we are in Christ will be both revealed and challenged by two things: (1) what, specifically, we stand for—and how consistent it is with the gospel of self-sacrificial grace embodied by Jesus, and (2) how, specifically, we stand against those with whom we disagree.

Both tell the story. Both reveal the basis of who we are in Christ. Both reflect on our family’s reputation.

Hopefully both represent well that we are followers of Christ. After all, Jesus made it very clear: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:34-35, italics mine).

So, how do we fight fair—especially in church battles? In addition to following the directions expressed by Jesus in Matthew 18, here are a few pointers to keep before us as we enter into the forays of sharing family “space.”

1. Guard the reputations of those who are sisters and brothers in Christ no matter what. That means when we agree and when we disagree. We are family. There are sufficient dangers out in the world that threaten all that we hold dear. Let’s not make the Church dangerous too. It doesn’t mean that we can’t disagree—even vehemently. It does mean that how we treat one another in the Church must honor the one main command that Jesus gave us. We must refuse to gossip about each other. We must refuse to allow the collusion of our mutual pains to gang up on one another. We must refuse to behave in ways that cross relational, ethical boundaries on our way to hold our brothers and sisters accountable for their behavior.

2. Be honest with our differences, but gentle with one another as we work them out. The Golden Rule may look good when we demand its ethic from others on how they treat us; but it finds its greatest potency when we first seek to live it out ourselves. We live within the temptation of dichotomous thinking—where rules of engagement are applied to others, but not abided by ourselves. For those of us in the midst of the stress of conflict, we become “blind” to seeing the inconsistencies of our own words, attitudes and behaviors; yet others see those inconsistencies as a testimony to the value system by which we identify. On Twitter last night, one of my clergy colleagues proclaimed that we United Methodists should commit ourselves first to “do no harm.” He then proceeded to verbally bash those whose position is more conservative than his own. Pain always makes us feel defensive, which, unchecked by grace, will threaten to pull us away from our core identity in Christ.

3. Focus on creating new options for relating, while we figure out a mutual solution to our conflict. If we believe, truly, that God is Sovereign, then we must realize that the greater test of character for God’s people is not just in how the conflict is resolved, but in how we treat each other on the way towards resolving it. This is the fundamental final exam of our discipleship. Do we understand Christianity 101 before we matriculate to Christianity 201? 301? 401? Moralistic approaches, social justice approaches, doctrinal purity approaches, in and of themselves, become arenas within which the greater testing of discipleship character occurs. Not everything is as it appears. What does it mean when we stand with the marginalized by marginalizing others? What does it mean for us to promote diversity and pluralism when we do so by verbally degrading those who disagree with us? What does it mean for us to demand conformity to policies without addressing the broken systems that have put them in place? What does it mean for us to demand rights and privileges while we serve a Lord who paradoxically defined ethical life in the Kingdom of God in opposite terms?

Life is not meant to be perceived solely in linear fashion, but in a grandly expanding mosaic. There are always possibilities, many of which have yet to be designed. Rather than remaining polarized by our defensive posturing and positioning, let’s get the paint out and start creating new options.

We’re family, after all.

Asking Different Questions of United Methodists

Many conflicts can be resolved simply by asking questions: “How exactly did I offend you?” “I’m not sure I heard correctly, did you say...?” “Can you help me to understand why you did...?”

But some conflicts—especially chronically endured, bitterly divisive conflicts—don’t respond well to those types of questions. Over time, we have learned how to respond within predetermined, pre-emptive, and predictive ways that justify, vilify, victimize, rationalize and/or evade, rather than in ways that draw us deeper into the lower, more difficult levels of intimacy, where raw honesty, shared under the macroscopic lens of Christ’s Light, exposes the caverns of our brokenness. There, alongside the stalactites of long-tempered tears, we discover some of the more profound opportunities for hope and healing. We just have to have the courage to rappel down there.

Rather than asking the same questions over and over, even with reframed words or phrases, we need to ask different questions. Rather than seeking the expected—even hoped for—resolution to the rift, we need to ambassador a genuine reconciliation that dares to bypass tolerance on its way to sacrificial love.

Are the people of Christ capable of this? Are we United Methodists, in particular—amidst the present cognitive dissonance of our existential plight?

As followers of Jesus, we are, after all, called to be purveyors of hope and New Life.

While I am only one voice crying in the dessert of our ecclesial brokenness, I do posit a few different questions—questions that I find myself wondering as I filter through the echoes of emotions that want to pull me towards therapeutic intervention rather than necessarily towards our mission mandate.

1. Whether progressive or traditional in theology, what is the evidence that God is using our churches to multiply and advance God's Kingdom mission? How are our churches defining God's Kingdom mission and how is that definition consistent with both Scripture and the character of Wesleyan theology?

2. How, specifically, are our churches carrying out the mission mandate of Matthew 28? How is the fruit of the Spirit being evidenced in the life of the church? If it is not, why not?

3. For the sake of love (as our primary witness of discipleship in Christ to the world), what are we willing to sacrifice in order to preserve the unity of the Body of Christ? Are we willing to sacrifice our own rights and privileges for the sake of our sisters and brothers in Christ? for the sake of those with whom we disagree? for the sake of our "enemies"? What specifically does it mean for us to “deny ourselves,” and to “take up our cross” to follow Jesus? Are our actions and attitudes consistent with what it means to be disciples of Jesus—not just in His ethic, but also in His walk to the Cross?

4. What would it take to keep us united on the essentials? What are those essentials? What specifically are our "non-negotiables"—that we will not sacrifice even for unity’s sake? What makes them non-negotiables?

5. Do I genuinely understand the perspectives of those with whom I disagree? Have I truly listened to why they believe as they do, to their personal investment in what they believe? Have I dared to set aside my own responses to their “arguments” long enough to hear them? In the words of St. Francis of Assisi, have I sought to understand before being understood?

6. How will we show love to each other even in our disagreement and/or separation? What does love require of us (especially when we don’t feel so loving)?

7. Are we willing to respect each other within our differences for the sake of the witness of the gospel? In John 13, Jesus washed Judas’s feet, even though He knew about the pending betrayal. Are we willing to do the same?

8. Are we willing to own our own responsibility in the breakdown of the unity of God's Church, rather than blaming those with whom we disagree? Are we willing to repent of our own violation of the Upper Room mandates of John 13-15... and Jesus’s prayer in John 17?

9. Are we willing to allow our pride at being "right" to die for the sake of the greater mission of the Church? Would I grieve if the UMC split? Am I grieving now for what’s happening to the Church? Or do I feel somehow (self-) righteously vindicated for my attitude and behavior?

10. Do I really want to stay in the United Methodist Church? Why or why not? What if I don’t agree with either “side” of the conflict?

I’m sure that many more questions can be added to this list. Yet knowing the human propensity to defend our dysfunctions, the questions that we add potentially will betray the very human condition that has us in our present impasse. If social media is to be viewed as evidence, it would seem that we simply cannot be a people without an agenda.

Of course, questions are easy to ask. The answers are what take work.

Mentoring Your Way to Spiritual Growth

Most of my personal and professional growth has come through intentional interactions with mentors. It was Dr. Francis Williamson at Albright College that challenged me to think—and sing—differently within my relationship with God. Also at Albright College was my psychology professor, Dr. Patricia Snyder, who, without realizing it, shaped the way I teach and preach. Then Dr. Cullen Story, my Greek and New Testament professor at Princeton Seminary, spoke into my life and ministry for two and a half decades. The longest and most intimate mentoring relationship, Dr. Story brought the wisdom of his decades of life and ministry freely into the reservoir of my maturing call—all the way up to the day he died at age 94. Additionally, for nearly 15 years, leadership expert, John C. Maxwell, has mentored me, teaching me how to be a more courageous and confident leader. Several years ago, pastor, church growth expert and author, Bill Easum, helped me to think larger when it came to the Kingdom of God and my part in it.

“We grow best when we do life together.”

— David Woolverton

Nothing can underscore enough the powerful gift of such apprenticeships. We grow best when we do life together.

Every believer, in my opinion, should not only submit to the life-influence of a faith-filled mentor, but also should be mentoring someone younger in the faith as well. It is the principle of multiplication at its best.

If you’re wondering how to establish a mentoring relationship for yourself, seek out someone who you believe has some of the personal or spiritual qualities that you are aspiring to have. Prayerfully consider your motives and how the Lord wants to grow your spiritual character. Then approach that person – asking them to prayerfully consider mentoring you. Mentoring can involve meeting for one hour once a month, or more frequently depending on your mutual schedules. Mentoring relationships are highly dependent on the “mentee” (you) asking the mentor questions that help nurture your growth. Do not expect the mentor to drive the conversation.

“Mentoring relationships are highly dependent on the “mentee” (you) asking the mentor questions that help nurture your growth.”

— David Woolverton

Here are sample questions that you can ask your mentor over the course of your relationship:

1. Was there a time when you messed up and felt like you had failed? How did you get back in the game?

2. Tell me about a time when you took a risk and shared your faith with someone who wasn’t a Christian.

3. What book are you reading now—or have you read recently—that has helped you in your faith journey?

4. Can you tell me about a time when you had a difficult—argument with your spouse, time adjusting at work, struggle with your kids, (other scenarios)? How did you handle the situation?

5. What are one or two of the most important leadership lessons you’ve learned and how have they proven invaluable to you?

6. Where do you see my strengths?

7. What do you see as some of my blind spots and how can I improve?

8. Could you offer some advice on how I might improve my prayer life?

9. How have you experienced God’s presence in your daily life?

10. What have been some obstacles for you in your daily walk with God? How did you move beyond them?

11. Tell me about how you do your daily devotions. How have you made them a priority for you?

12. What’s one of the lessons you’ve learned about maintaining a strong marriage?

13. How do you prioritize money decisions?

14. What is your “life verse” from the Bible? Why did you select it?

15. Who has been a spiritual hero for you and why did you select that person?

16. Tell me about how you decided to follow Jesus.

17. What is your favorite hymn or worship song? Why is it so meaningful to you?

18. How have you navigated through the difficult times in life? How did your faith help?

19. If you could rewind your life, is there anything you would change?

20. What has God been teaching you lately?

Let’s go mentor and multiply the Kingdom!

The Intersection of Guilt and Regret

“When all the people who had gathered to witness this sight saw what took place, they beat their breasts and went away.” ~ Luke 23:48

The intersection of guilt and regret has the potential to be a defining moment, depending on which direction one chooses to turn. If the choice is to turn into one’s guilt, bearing responsibility for one’s actions, and leaning towards the One who has the capacity to forgive, then such a moment becomes sacred, even sacramental in its possibility for restoration.  But if one’s choice is to turn away from one’s guilt, eschewing responsibility, fleeing the moment and the one hurt, then regret forms the pathway and trajectory of the rest of one’s life.

In this verse from Luke’s Gospel, Luke reveals that impactful “moment of awareness” that overtook the crowd when the reality of what was just done to Jesus on the Cross hits them.  They “beat their breasts”—a symbolic and kinesthetic gesture of regret and guilt, of sorrow and grief. Yet, they “went away”—perhaps in shame, perhaps in helpless resignation. Like those who voyeuristically stand by, capturing on camera another person being brutally beaten, yet not stepping in to help, we recognize our blindness to social responsibility only after the surge of lustful vengeance is complete and we are left in the vacuum of our banal human condition.

Yet who knows what happened to those in that crowd? For even in their moment of sin, the reality of Jesus’s lordship still met them invitationally—literally, with arms spread wide open.

Lord, thank You for meeting me in the moment of my sinfulness—whether I am aware of it or not. Amen.

Musing a Methodist Mulligan

Reflections on General Conference 2019

— by David E. Woolverton

I’ve been a church pastor for over thirty years; consequently, there’s still a lot that I have to learn. Yet, there’s one thing I do know: Church conflict makes good people do stupid things. Why? In my experience, it’s usually because we either forget who we are, we forget why we’re here, or we forget where we’re supposed to be going. I know because I’m one of them.

Church conflict makes good people do stupid things.

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Conflict leadership fundamentally is not about the resolution of disagreements. It’s about leading people through a discipleship process that helps them remember who they are in Christ, why the Church exists, and what the mission of the Church actually is.

Developing a Kingdom of God mind-set is critically important for conflict leadership. The local church was never intended to be the end of the process of discipleship, but rather a means to an end. The church is a movement of God’s Spirit, a vehicle by which God accomplishes God’s mission of multiplying disciples for the transformation of the world, through divinely-empowered acts of self-sacrificial love invasively perpetrated by lives changed by Christ.

Clearly, the best way to navigate through conflict situations is to work harder on the front end in creating a normative culture in our churches built around the Way of life that Jesus modeled, and then to reinforce that culture within the day-to-day relational connections of the congregation. Why? In simple terms, we become what we allow.

The language of the Kingdom of God communicates – in multiphasic ways – the values that Jesus Himself espoused. Learning that language comes best by immersion in real time – living out and living into the cultural expressions of community life under the leadership of Jesus Christ. Those values are seen first in the mandates that Jesus brought to the table of fellowship with the Twelve. It was as they journeyed together, ate together, laughed together, learned together, prayed together, did life together that Jesus taught them the most basic qualities of life in the Kingdom of God... and then challenged them to live out those values with each other as a testimony to the world: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35).

All those values create a visual image of how the Body of Christ, the Church, is to be different from the rest of the world. The Church thrives best when it is living out those values, representing Jesus in the world by how it treats those within its fellowship. When conflict arises, the Church has the opportunity to represent itself differently than the human condition would warrant, so that its witness is consistent with the values of the One who gave His life for the sake of its mission, as well as with the sanctification processes wrought by the Spirit embedded in His people.

When conflict arises, the Church has the opportunity to represent itself differently than the human condition would warrant.

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It would seem that the problem with conflict is that we humans tend to think and respond way too often within a linear worldview – when, in fact, reality calls us into seeing life and all its complexities more as a mosaic. A mosaic is a “picture or pattern produced by arranging together small colored pieces of hard material, such as stone, tile or glass.” (1) Most often, the best view of a mosaic is from a distance – so that one may see the full expression of the visual image that the composited tiles are to represent. For me, the mosaic is a powerful way of looking at different facets of the life of a disciple – from grief and trauma, to conflict and contrition, to forgiveness and reconciliation.

My theory is that when a “significant” event occurs – aka, a conflict, a trauma, a loss, an offense, a violation, a birth, a marriage, a divorce, an affair, a suicide, etc. – that event becomes imprinted on a tile in the greater masterpiece God is rendering out of our life story. Our emotional response to that event creates a framework for how that event is catalogued and interpreted by our mind, coloring our experience of its expression within our day-to-day life. The more “traumatic” the event, the more intense becomes the emotional reaction and the more focused we become on that event as defining our reality. Trauma – or more specifically, intense emotional pain – restricts our view to the individual tile representing that significant event, preventing us from seeing the larger picture of how that event contributes to our life story. Additionally, it blinds us from seeing how God could possibly redeem that pain.

As we proactively empower a mosaic view of our life together, we nurture a communal perspective of the redemptive capacity of God for all experiences in the lives of Jesus’s followers, both individual and corporate. For Jesus’s followers, God reframes our experiences of brokenness, inviting us both to trust Jesus’s redemptive work on our behalf, as well as to learn how to mediate and moderate our responses to our own feelings of offense for the sake of the greater mission.

There is an over-arching rhythm to the Kingdom of God’s discipling culture that anticipates conflict and invites us to harness its energy towards transformation and growth. That rhythm is based on the all-encompassing value of self-giving love – and followers of Jesus are called to live that love better than the world does.

As John 13 begins, Jesus is spending His last hours in the Upper Room with His closest friends. He knows what’s coming towards Him: betrayal, arrest, abandonment, severe beating, a mock trial, scourging, humiliation, crucifixion, an agonizing death. He knows He has limited time to equip His disciples with what they will need to endure not only the darkest night of their souls’ journey, but a mission that will become bigger than they would ever know. As an expert carpenter, He must whittle down all that they saw Him do and heard Him teach into one main lesson, something they will never forget. So, He takes off His garments, wraps Himself with a servant’s towel, grabs a bowl and a pitcher of water from near the entry door, and proceeds to wash the disciples’ feet. Each and every one of them. Including the one who would betray Him. In spite of Peter’s protest, Jesus embraces this act of self-denial for it visually implants into each of their memories the profound illustration of that one lesson.

When He finishes, Jesus takes off the towel, puts away the bowl and pitcher, puts His garments back on, returns to His place at the table, and asks a critically important question: “Do you understand what I have done for you?” (v. 12).

Back then, feet were dirty. Literally. And they smelled. Those guys did a lot of walking. Upon entering a home, foot washing was the house servant’s job, or the homeowner’s, if they could not afford a house servant, as a sign of hospitality. But it also served a very practical purpose: It improved the atmosphere of the home. Hold on to that thought.

Jesus’s act of humble service demonstrated that genuine love is willing to get dirty. It’s willing to shed rights and privilege for the sake of someone else’s best. It’s a willingness to assume that another person – any person – is more important than you.

“Do you understand what I have done for you?”

Then Jesus explains His object lesson. “You call me ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord,’ and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them” (John 13:13-17, italics mine).

Notice that Jesus sheds His positional authority (i.e., He took off His garments and donned a servant’s towel) to demonstrate His object lesson, and when finished, He “returns to His place [of authority]” (v. 12), and then uses that same positional authority to tell His disciples not to use their positional authority. Now, that is leadership.

In the Kingdom of God, typical values are upended, lessons are paradoxical, and disciples are challenged to live... and lead... differently than those in the world.

Meanwhile, back in the Upper Room, in the face of betrayal (Judas, in John 13:18-30) and denial (Peter, in John 13:31-38), Jesus downloads into them the main idea of His object lesson: “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:34-35, italics mine).

The anxiety in the room is rising. The reality of Jesus’ departure is getting more palpable. Judas exits. Peter is prophetically confronted with his pending denial. Jesus is losing the disciples to their fear. So, He speaks words of peace and promise (John 14) and invites them into a new metaphor, a vine and branches (John 15). Then, like a master-teacher, He repeats the main lesson:

“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command.”

(John 15:9-14 NIV)

The model has been demonstrated, explained, reinforced and encouraged. It has to be enough... for now. Their destiny is about to unfold. They leave the Upper Room and go to the Gethsemane garden where, in John’s Gospel, Jesus prays – for Himself, His disciples, and for all of us who are yet to believe.

The core framework of conflict leadership is learning to dance the rhythms of love – the self-giving kind of love that Jesus embodied. It is the over-arching language of the Kingdom of God. Therefore, it must be the priority of the local church. As leaders, we must model, disciple, reinforce, encourage, and pray for that kind of love within the culture of our congregations. Without it, conflict leadership will be moot.

As the Church of Jesus Christ, especially within conflict situations, we need to lean into the redemptive love of God – a commitment to what can be, not just what is – based on the covenantal markers of the Cross-Event of Christ. A price has been paid for this special relationship – the relationship experienced between congregation members, but reflective of the bond between the Church and Jesus.

That price was intense and intentional – and its commitment must undergird the process that mediates our personal and corporate brokenness. Our individual pain and offense must be brought under the umbrella of our corporate missional witness and our corporate mandate of covenantal, accountable love. In doing so, God redeems our pain and uses its story as an embodied, prophetic testimony to God’s greater mission. Through it, God connects God’s longsuffering call to faithfulness with our willingness to submit our pain to a larger mosaic of global healing and redemption.

On purely human terms, this is not easy, of course. We must navigate through the powerfully inclement storms of our feelings – of violation, guilt, shame, justified anger, selfrighteous indignation, unchained and recurrent emotionally traumatic memories, entitlements, the need to avenge, the need for revenge, rage and outrage, hatred, isolation, alienation, bigotry, fear, terror, to name but a few – in order to arrive at even the possibility of healing. On purely human terms, this does not make logical sense, when all our sympathetic impulses cry out for therapeutic intervention – the validation of our feelings and individualized treatment plans... and our perceptions of justice. Offense, by human nature, often compels us to push away from one another, not lean towards each other, unless, of course, we are trying to justify our victimization through collusion of shared misery.

Yet God is not defined by our human need for life to make sense. And the Lord of Life has issued a command. What will we do with that?

Regardless of whether one considers the General Conference decision an ecclesial victory or a reflection of theological heresy, the entire process, in my opinion, was a no-win scenario. From the prospects of obtaining unity around the issues before us, I believe the specially called General Conference Session was already doomed to fail before it began. Approaching any significant conflict from the standpoint of positional negotiations automatically structures the resolution process into a win-lose arrangement. We began with options - a Traditional Plan, a One Church Plan, a Simple Plan, etc. – and dared our representatives to find enough voting ground to choose. Each leg of the journey, as item after item was chosen by “yes” or “no” vote, the weight of the win-lose arrangement became palpable. Win-lose within the Church always carries with it the ramification of abuse of power, layers of filial abandonment, and missional decay... even when we believe we are defending “doctrinal purity” or “social holiness.” Is there truly a “winner” when we must bear on our actions – however righteously intended they may be – the separation of those who are part of our fellowship? Would we not genuinely grieve at the prospect of significant portions of our Body exiting; or would we rejoice with relief? What if the proverbial shoes were on the other foot?

The General Conference session was doomed to fail... regardless of whichever plan was to be chosen.

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It is the aftermath of any conflict, the “wake,” that always reveals the character and lifedoctrines of its participants. Stress always exposes both our strengths and vulnerabilities. Win or lose, what does our wake reveal about our own discipleship? Our own character? Our own value integrity?

Additionally, “unity” – a term used by both “sides” of the conflict – was significantly defined by standards only supported by each party: “Let us come together and be united as you support what is the most obvious way forward – ours.” This was not simply a clash over doctrine; it was a clash of perceived irreconcilable values and identity. And in spite of all of the years of a priori dialogue, no movement towards each other could be found to prepare the emotional and spiritual dimensions of the gathering in St. Louis. Mediation is only possible when both parties at least are willing to look for a mutually agreeable solution. Mediation did not take place in St. Louis. Doing the work of conflict leadership is laborious and emotionally draining, and thus we resort to parliamentary procedure to define our course.

Rather, from the perspective of its perceived goals, the General Conference session was doomed to fail – at no specific fault of any particular participants, and regardless of whichever plan was to be chosen. The stage was set long before anyone set foot onto the floor of the Conference, longer even before anyone was elected to be a delegate, and longer than before the bishops gathered to commission the Way Forward. No-win scenarios in conflicts occur when we focus on what we see solely in front of us, in linear terms, and thus fail to ask the most important questions. In my opinion, we did not ask the right questions.

For example, if genuinely we are wanting to create a solution to our long-embedded impasse, would we be willing to draw an end to the United Methodist Church as we know it? Would we, could we, fathom an act of self-sacrificial love so radical – for the sake of the mission that we proclaim – that we would sacrifice intentionally the very Parent-Church that gave birth to our present circumstances? The pattern of Abraham sacrificing Isaac as a test of faithful trust may seem antithetical to our 21st century mind, perhaps even reprehensible. Yet woven into the biblical meta-narrative is the invitation to “take nothing with you” as we go on the mission field of the gospel (cf. Mark 6:6b-13). When the Apostle Paul says that “nothing shall separate us from the love of God” in Romans 8 he is issuing both a declaration of assurance as well as a missional mandate.

Even if such an action was not what we in fact would perpetrate, asking the question and being willing to move into that direction has the power to set us free to value the mission greater than the vehicle designed to achieve it.

Rather, we sent our delegates into this special session each with the goal of preserving the “unity” of the Body of Christ, which we inevitably and mistakenly and perhaps unconsciously assumed meant the denomination and its doctrine – into which everyone had to fit, preferably agreeably.

What if preserving the denomination was not necessarily the only option? I’m not talking about shutting down the denomination, as some had proffered, as an act of conflict avoidance or as an act of resigned anger. As followers of Jesus, we are not called to tolerate one another, but to love one another. Love also demands that we step into the dirty places of interpersonal challenge. Rather, I’m talking about an act of radical love from a Parent on behalf of a Child for the sake of a greater mission. Would we do that?

It would seem to me that after a gestation period of over 40 years, nurtured by often vitriolic debate, the labor pains are finally announcing that a birth is about to take place. And in the womb of the Parent are two – maybe three – newborns that have been grabbing at each other’s heels trying to see which will emerge first and receive the birthright... when in fact, the Parent, to model its own Upper Room object lesson, is needing to give its life “as a ransom for many.” Lest we miss this, the United Methodist Church is in transition...whether we like it or not. In order for us to enter into the “new beginnings,” as William Bridges has so wisely taught us in his classic book, Managing Transitions, (2) we must go through an “ending” phase. And the season we then must enter into is the “neutral zone” of high anxiety and high creativity. God is transforming us on our way towards transforming the world for Jesus Christ. Would we be willing to engage the creative parts of the neutral zone within which we find ourselves – in spite of the high levels of reactive anxiety we feel? The United Methodist Church as we have known it is going to die regardless. Would we not want to end it with eulogy rather than unresolved bitterness that reflects the very image of what we, on both sides of the debate, have preached and taught against. If our Wesleyan values of scriptural holiness and social holiness are indeed to be embodied with integrity, and if indeed we espouse the underlying mandates of call and love intertwined within ordination and marriage, then for the sake of our witness to the world, our unique faith in Jesus Christ must compel us to lead through this conflict differently.

Using a golfing metaphor, I believe it’s time for the United Methodist Church to declare a mulligan, a do-over. It’s time for “both” sides to come back to the Table, realize in love that they are God-bearers of an important legacy that is far more important than each is individually, and celebrate in eulogy their Parent as it willingly dies for the sins of its children in order for them to have Life. Of course, I would suggest a much smaller group – perhaps consisting of Adam Hamilton, Rob Renfroe, their counterparts in Africa, Europe and the Philippines, and a few others who also would be willing to handle the deeper, tougher realities that prophetically are before us. Definitely they should be persons who have the maturity to ask honest questions and make honest decisions apart from the vitriolic need to justify or save face. Handling this with 860 delegates is further illustration of the muddled adage, “Wherever two or three are gathered in Jesus’s name... there’s bound to be a fight.”

I believe it’s time for the United Methodist Church to declare a mulligan, a do-over.

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It’s never too late. Never. Nothing that happened at St. Louis was a surprise to the Alpha and Omega. Perhaps what happened needed to happen in order to set the stage for more honest interactions. What spurred on John and Charles Wesley, Martin Boehm, Jacob Albright, Francis Asbury, Philip William Otterbein, Barbara Heck, Sojourner Truth, Sophronia Farrington, Clementina and William Butler, Fanny Crosby, Anna Howard Shaw, Charles Albert Tindley, and the many, many others towards creating a next step for the Kingdom of God, was not the preservation of a denomination, but a movement of God’s Spirit in reaching people – all people – for Christ. We must remember who we are, why we’re here, and where we’re going.

Ultimately, each Child of the Parent will show itself as being “of God” by the fruit that is borne from their labors.

God is not defined by our human need for life to make sense. And the Lord of Life has issued a command. What will we do with that?

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Portions of this article are taken from David’s forthcoming book, Kingdom Rules: What I Wish I Knew About Church Conflict Before I Became a Pastor (soon to be published) copyright © 2018 by David E. Woolverton. All rights reserved.

1 “mosaic,” New Oxford American Dictionary Online, Version 2.2.1 (194), Apple Inc., 2005-2006.

2 William Bridges, Managing Transitions: Making the Most of Change (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1991).

Copyright © 2019 by David E. Woolverton. All rights reserved.

A Journey to the Cross

A 40 Day Devotional for Lent on Luke 22-23

The season of Lent in the Christian Church is a time of preparation. We anticipate the energy and excitement around the good news of Easter Sunday and the Resurrection of Jesus. Most of us like that energy and excitement — and rightly so, since it is a radical, life-changing message.

Yet, we can’t get to the empty tomb without going through the Cross-event. Lent’s preparation is a time of soul-reflection, life confession, and introspective prayer with one goal in mind: to be drawn closer to the One who has called us His disciples.

I would like to invite you into this 40-day preparation time by joining me on a journey to the Cross of Christ using Chapters 22 and 23 of the Gospel of Luke as our guide. Each daily entry starts with a focal verse or passage from these chapters, moves us through some reflections on the Scriptures, and then closes with a brief prayer. It is meant to stimulate daily self-reflection in your relationship with God. Hopefully it inspires you to draw even deeper into the Bible and towards the One who died for you.

Whether you do the journey alone or with someone else or with your family, let Lent be a time when you seek out the Lord in a meaningful way. Trust Him with your life.

Click this link or the image below to open the PDF.