2/19/2012 “The Thread We Follow” by Mahan Siler

Text: Micah 6:8

The Way It Is

There is a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what things you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost,
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and grow old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

-William Stafford

Was the decision to bless the union of same-gender couples the defining event of Pullen?
I hope not.

Was this decision the defining event of my fifteen years with you as pastor?
I hope not.

Was this congregational decision the defining event for some devoted members who left?
Painfully, yes.

Was this historic decision the defining event of Pullen’s identity in the larger community and church? For many, yes.

No, this decision—what led to it, what has come from it—is not the defining event of our church. Rather, it is an important bead on a thread. What defines Pullen is not this or any other event. What defines Pullen is not any one particular decision. What defines Pullen is not some important person or two or three. What defines us is not a particular season of our history.

What defines Pullen is the thread, not the beads. It’s the invisible, but strong thread, like a steel cord, we must not let go of. It is the thread we follow.

So, what is the thread? What is the thread that goes among the things that change but doesn’t change itself? What is the thread that’s hard for others to see, even hard for us to see?

I remember asking that very question when we arrived in 1983. Here I was entering into a wonderfully diverse community, a congregation of strong individuals and active groups. I kept asking: “What’s the glue? What’s the glue that holds us together? What unites us? I was asking, “Where is the thread?”

Some responded, “Freedom is what holds us together, freedom of choice and freedom from coercion, for us and for others. But I kept wondering, “What are we free for?”

A couple of times I convened a group to work on a covenant. I thought a fresh statement of our identity might help provide a lens through which to see our ministry together. Well, I bet you can guess where that effort went. It went nowhere! No one, except me, seemed to feel the need.

Then one day I woke up to the fact, we have a covenant statement. We have a mission statement. We have a thread. It’s Micah 6:8. This text, more than any other text, has been at the heart of Pullen. No passage of scripture, I venture, has been preached on more. So I began to follow the tradition of preaching on this text at least once a year. Now, I see it is explicit on your materials of ministry. Ah! There it is! That’s the thread—“What does the Lord require of us? It’s to do justice, love mercy as a way of walking with God from a place of humility.”

Now note, this is relationship language. Justice and mercy and humility and God are not some abstract ideas or lofty principles or high ideals. Justice and mercy and humility are realized only in relationships. As a form of Love, they require relationships—with each other, with creation, with God.

Mark it down. This is our baseline view of the world, confirmed it seems by quantum physics: Reality is relational; God is relational. God’s strategy, it seems, is to foster a certain quality of relationships, a certain kind of community. God’s intention is covenant-making.

Friend Dick Hester and biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann taught me about covenants. Our very social fabric is held together by promises made and promises kept. It is as simple and profound as that. Promises are the glue of daily life: “I’ll see you at 6 o’clock—and if I am late, I will call you.” . . . “That time works for me. I will be at your place at 2 o’clock.” Without day-to-day faithfulness to promises made, every relationship at home or school or office or church would quickly unravel.

But biblical covenants are more than promises between two people. There is a third party, call this force God or justice or mercy or love.

Have you noticed you love most deeply those who love what you love? The love of a couple deepens with the focus of their love of their child. Your friendship deepens as you share your mutual love for a common cause. So it is with you, members of Pullen. Your love for each other deepens the more you share a mutual love for this God movement of doing justice, showing mercy, and walking with humility. It is your covenant with this Spirit-in-Action that draws you together in partnership.

This was the thread we tried to follow in 1992. The deacons, and then the congregation, were faced with a question: Will we bless within worship the covenant of two men, Kevin and Stephen? Will we bless, as part of our thread, their promises to love each other until death parts them? And, within that question, we were addressing a deeper question: How will opposite-sex oriented members be in relationship with same-sex oriented persons?

Many then, and today, want to frame this question as an issue, the issue of homosexuality. I protest. Issues invite polarized, right-wrong thinking; relationships invite the hard work of listening and learning. We were asking, how will Pullen be in covenant relationship with Kevin and Stephen, and with LGBT persons, within and beyond our congregation? What will we promise? What will they promise?

As I see it, (granted more clear in retrospect) we were following the thread that unites us. We were attempting just relationships; we were attempting mercy; we were attempting a walk with God down a path of humility, not knowing where it would take us. We sure didn’t know that!! We backed into a whirlwind.

We were placing this bead on our thread, just as our ancestors, at the beginning of our congregation, 128 years ago, put the first bead on the thread by starting a church to be in relationship with the poor of this city. That relationship was so strong that when John Pullen, the key lay leader of those first decades, died, the editorial of the N & O, declared, in essence: “The poor of the city grieve today. John Pullen is dead.”

And through the years there have been other beads placed on our Micah thread; for instance,  being in relationship with those in higher education (the cause that moved Pullen to this location) and more recently in lower levels of education. So many beads through the years, such as learning to be in relationship to women as lay leaders; and later, female clergy leaders. Still other beads: extending our relationships with African-Americans, with other denominations and religious traditions, with labor unions, with the homeless, with other peace makers; and more recently, with the earth and non-human beings. Do you see the thread in these and many other beads? Do you see, as Pat Long entitled her wonderful account of our gay union 1992 process, our ever “enlarging circle?” Each time we were called beyond our comfort zones to be in relationship with the “other.” And with each of these “beads,” and so many others, we were also asking: “How will we be in covenant with each other while following this thread of relating beyond our set relationships?” It is the thread we follow.

Now, let me back up and speak a bit from my story.

I came to Pullen in 1983 with some useful experience. In a few pastoral relationships I had come to appreciate the inner struggle for sexual identity. I felt the dilemma of those who realized themselves to be gay or lesbian; that is, the cost of “coming out of the closet,” the cost of staying “in the closet.” But I came to Pullen with no intention to address this concern publicly. But around 1985, with the rise of AIDS epidemic, came the rise of some preachers with strident voices proclaiming AIDS as God’s judgment on homosexuality. I knew better, I thought. So, in a sort of “coming out” myself, I preached in 1986 a sermon entitled, A Christian Understanding of Homosexuality. It was “a” point of view.

Soon afterward, I became a member of an ecumenical organization of clergy and lay persons, both gay and straight, called Raleigh Religious Network for Gay and Lesbian Equality. This incredible group became both a learning place and a supportive place for public witness. I would not have had the knowledge nor the courage to act publicly without this ecumenical community of peers. Meanwhile, Pullen became a safe place for gays and lesbians to be, those LBGT persons who wanted to honor both core identities—being Christian, being gay. I figured that eventually some same-sex couples would ask for a blessing on their commitment from the church.

That couple came in the fall of 1991. Kevin and Stephen and I met regularly over a period of six weeks. I concluded that they wanted the same blessing that Janice and I received, to declare their covenant love as an act of worship with the support of family and friends.

Then, I took a few weeks to struggle with the hardest decision I have faced as a pastor. I talked with friends, I checked with a journalist friend about media ramifications, I hiked in the mountains, I prayed. My “yes” to go forward was both a pastor’s response to these two men and also a conviction that such a commitment to covenant love was the place for the church to stand. After all, I reasoned, we are in the “covenant business.”

I took the request to the deacons, along with my conviction, yet clear with them that offering this additional ritual was a congregational decision. The deacons did not back away from this surprising request. Their struggle of discernment with such honesty and faithfulness is a treasured memory I still carry with me. The deacons then turned to the congregation with a recommendation, “This is what we discern, now what do you discern?” And they set up a process, as safe and supportive as possible, for the congregation to do its hard work. During this time neither the deacons nor I spoke for or against the recommendations. Our energies went toward facilitation, trusting the wisdom of the congregation.

Now, let’s pause and fully recognize the most amazing part of this narrative: you, Pullen congregation. With remarkable participation, you leaned into the most controversial question before the church then, and now, seeking the mind of Christ on the matter. For years individual leaders of the church have spoken for just relationships between straight and gays. But few, if any, congregations in 1992 engaged in this discernment as a congregation. We are lifting up today a congregational story.

And all this was happening in the midst of a Baptist storm. In 1992, a huge tug-of-war was occurring between fundamentalist Southern Baptists and “moderate” Southern Baptists. And here, in the midst of this storm, comes Pullen with our conversation about same-gender covenants. It was too much. It was just too much for most of our Baptist friends and foes to handle. In time, the rubber bands connecting us to Southern Baptists broke on all levels: local, state, and national. And that very prolonged process kept us in the media for three months. All the while, in the midst of such a stressful climate, we were trying to hold on to the “thread” as best we could.

During those challenging, wrenching conversations, we kept saying, like a mantra, the way we decide is as important as what we decide. In our effort to define justice “out there,” we wanted to practice justice and mercy “in here,” within our relationships to each other. That meant, honoring the other, listening and learning.

As a result, we could feel the changes in relationships; in fact, in all relationships both within and beyond Pullen. Some new relationships were formed. Others deepened. Some were broken.

Let’s ponder the broken relationships within our congregation.

I remind us that only a few among us voted against the welcoming and inclusion of LGBT persons as members: 98% for; 2% against. This remarkable decision has been under-appreciated. But, about a third of us couldn’t go so far as blessing a union, like a marriage. They rightly realized that such an act is a redefinition of marriage and family. For them, that was a step they couldn’t take with integrity.

Thank God, some of them, that is, some of you who disagreed with the same-sex ritual and shared your convictions, nevertheless continued as faithful members. You remained “threaded” with the rest of us in our Micah 6:8 mission. I hope today you feel our admiration and appreciation.

But many of our members, about twenty-five families, left Pullen. Most of these friends were cherished, long-time members. It felt like what it was, the severing of family ties. There is no pain like the pain of family separation. Great sadness and anger marked their leave-taking. For example, the architect (along with his brother) of this sacred space that we love so, left feeling what others expressed as well, “You have taken my church away from me.” That is the way it felt. It is this feeling we fold into our worship today. We are getting to the “walking humbly” part of our Micah thread.

It seems that when a community takes a stand for justice against the norm of perceived injustice (and we did), the people can go in one of two directions. It can take them to hubris, to pride, to self-righteousness, to self-congratulation. Or, it can drive them to their knees, to confession, to humility.

If the Hebrew word for sin is “missing the target, missing the mark” (and it is), then we have sinned. We missed the target of holding together in a faithful pursuit of a just decision. We just couldn’t hit the mark of expressing ourselves without judgment and self-righteousness. Could we have done things differently? Should I have waited before presenting the request of Kevin and Stephen? Did we rush the process? Did we pursue all the options? Questions. Questions. We can’t help but ask questions. I still ask them. We ask them because our friends were hurt by our actions; because final leave-taking is always painful; because broken covenants are wrenching.

You know that from other life experiences. Sometimes, in spite of your efforts, cherished covenants break down, stated promises change. Not all promises, for a variety of reasons, can be kept. Broken covenants are profoundly wrenching.

So today we walk humbly. We walk humbly in need of healing. We walk humbly with God’s mercy.

As you continue to risk attempting just relationships, living out mercy—and you will because that’s your thread, that’s your DNA—expect this: If you allow it, such witness will bring you to your knees every time. Such boldness is never perfect. Messy it will be. Your risking will always “miss the mark.” Hurt, along with joy, will abound. And you will limp away with God, as we did, twenty years ago, from a place of humility.

But now, in the same breath, we raise our voice in thanksgiving, “Thank you, God, for letting us participate in such amazing grace.” It was as if the Spirit hurled our little witness across the land in ways we could never have imagined. Here we were, focused entirely on our little flock, not knowing the good news this would bring to so many. That is humbling, as well, the privilege of sharing in a larger movement of liberation. And the ripples from this witness, mostly unknown to us, never end— like the father who approached me last Sunday, saying, with tears, “Thank you for what you and your church did. I was one of the outraged until my daughter told me she is lesbian. Without you knowing, your church helped prepare me.” Ripples, ripples. Witness, witness. Its light keeps shining. And to think—we were the candle.

Now, Pullen Memorial Baptist Church, a blessing: “May the God with whom you keep walking from a place of humility and thanksgiving, keep you faithful to the Micah thread of risking for justice and mercy. Hold on to that invisible thread for Life. Don’t ever let it go.”

“There is a thread you follow. It goes among

things that change. But it doesn’t change.

People wonder about what things you are pursuing.

You have to explain about the thread.

But it is hard for others to see.

While you hold it you can’t get lost,

Tragedies happen; people get hurt

or die; and you suffer and grow old.

Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.

You don’t ever let go of the thread.”