GC2019: Love Is My Tradition

When I left General Conference at 3 p.m. today to get home ahead of the forecast ice storm, I felt fairly confident that the Traditional Plan was not going to have an opportunity to be amended in order to pass constitutional muster. Time was running out, and I assumed that GC2019 would end up with nothing passed.

 

Instead, I listened in shock to the livestream while driving, as the Traditional Plan was passed, largely unamended and presumably unconstitutional. Further action was taken to allow for the partial dissolution of our denomination through means of “disaffiliation,” via another motion that was also declared unconstitutional earlier in the day.

 

(For those of you who haven't been keeping score, the Traditional Plan affirms our current restrictions against same-sex marriage and LGBTQIA clergy, and goes a step further to weaponize the consequences of not only disobedience but also disagreement.)

 

Here’s what I don’t know: I have no idea what it means to have passed a plan that is unconstitutional. We will gain some clarity in days ahead, but we just don’t know right now.

 

Here’s what I do know: 2/3 of US delegates were opposed to this plan. Many of the largest and strongest churches in our denomination ardently oppose this plan. Already, people are speaking out that have not spoken out before. The passage of this plan is largely a function of the global nature of the UMC and not reflective of the majority of US United Methodists.

 

I know that some of the most faithful and beloved children of God are LGBTQIA, and that the action of this General Conference does nothing to change that love. I am so sorry for the pain that has resulted from the actions of GC2019. Beloved friends, family, colleagues, and parishoners have been wounded by today’s actions. That part has been and will continue to be the hardest part to witness, and the part that I most want to fix. Right now.

 

I know that I will continue welcoming everyone into the life of the church, grateful for every opportunity to share the abundant love of an abundant God..

 

I know that tomorrow night, First UMC Blue Springs will serve a meal to hungry people in our community. I know that this weekend in worship, our young people will be leading us, and that we will rejoice as we are blessed by the future of the church. I know that we’ll keep on praying and loving and serving in Christ’s name. Together, we’ll keep doing the work of love.

 

I know that my first love is Jesus, not the UMC, and that my hope is in Christ alone.

 

And so I am hopeful this evening. Tired and a little weepy, but hopeful. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but I know who holds the future. (I know the saying is a little trite, but tonight seems like a good night for comfort-food sayings that speak truth.)

 

We're told in 1 John, "Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God." There is no mention of "beloved, let us love one another, as long as they're (fill in the blank)." Our call is to love, and so the one thing we now to do tonight and tomorrow and the days after is to keep loving one another fully.

 

Blessings,

Sally

PS: Here is a link to a letter written by our bishop, Bishop Farr. He speaks words of wisdom, and I am grateful for his leadership tonight. https://missouri.brtapp.com/files/tables/emails/2218682/fields/attachments/52ad9efb67cf4af9b362b5989523a3c9/bishopfarrletter.pdf

Family Heritage

My mother expressed more than once her great surprise at having given birth to a pastor. (Her exact words, which would always amuse and horrify me in equal measures, were “I can’t believe a preacher sprang forth from my loins.”) Her incredulity mirrored my own quite often. As the 13^th woman ordained in my Annual Conference, and as the first woman in every pastoral role in which I’ve served, I’ve wondered more than once how I got there. 

Last night, my perspective changed entirely. I was at a family reunion dinner in New Orleans, celebrating the 80^th birthdays of my mother’s twin siblings. (Thanks to the miracle of modern air travel, I was able to be at dinner in NOLA Friday night and have lunch back home the next day.) I had received an email from my uncle earlier in the week, asking me to offer a blessing for the meal. And, he continued, “Methodist ministers have had a big role in the Radford family! I would like for you to make a few remarks about Methodist ministers in our life.” 

I started thinking about a couple of Methodist ministers that were a part of our family. Dr. Bill was a bachelor all of his life. During his tenure as Dean of Candler School of Theology in Atlanta, he lived with my great-grandparents. He performed the weddings of my parents and my aunt and uncle, before going on to become consecrated as Bishop Cannon. There was also a great uncle somewhere along the line that baptized a couple of my grandparents’ children. 

My favorite family preacher though, is Rev. Robert A. Prior (1811-1861). He is my a-whole-bunch-of-multiples great-grandfather and served as a Methodist circuit rider in Georgia. I don’t know if he lived to be only 50 due to the Civil War or to the demands of the life as an itinerant preacher. I’ve enjoyed reading his Discipline, which is full of nuggets such as the dictum that, while a traveling preacher is preaching, the church is responsible for feeding and watering his horse. 

Thinking about my forebears in ministry last night led me to my first thought, which was, “Who am I to be surprised that I am a Methodist pastor?” What a great affirmation it is to know that I’m simply living into my family heritage. (Although I do hope I've got better hair than he does.)

But I realized something even more important. When we were growing up, we were not raised to be close to our extended family. It has only been as we’ve gotten older that we’ve sought each other out, primarily through Facebook and a wonderfully fun family football challenge orchestrated by my marvelous sister. We live across the country, from North Carolina to Florida to Mississippi to Missouri to Colorado to California. When 24 of us gathered for the birthday dinner last night, some of us had never met, and few of us had spent much time with anyone outside our own immediate family. However, I felt bonded with the people in that room in ways that surprised me. I could see the similarities of our grandparents in most of us. We have some common speech patterns, albeit different accents. We tend to laugh in similar ways, I think. There was a common bond among us that may have not been visible to anyone outside the room, but we felt it.

The Radford clan is far from uniform. Although we didn’t talk about politics (we were way too busy getting caught up on each other’s lives to go there), I’m fairly certain that a wide range of political opinions existed in that room. None of that mattered in the laughter, tears, and memories of last night.

Which made me think about Rev. Prior. He served a Methodist church that was divided over slavery. He lived through that vote for schism, and he served in the post-division church. It is very possible that I will soon follow in his footsteps by serving a church chooses to divide, although our issue is sexual orientation rather than slavery. This question will be before our denomination later this month at a Called General Conference in St. Louis.

I think again about my family last night, gathered together to celebrate. The most important thing was our common bond that we share, people that either were born into the Radford clan or chose to marry into it. Family goes far beyond politics. Can the same be true for our denomination? Can we find a way to live our common life as family, and not split over something that, years down the road, will seem tragic and useless?

My best vision for our unity is reflected in the One Church Plan, which I support. There are other plans out there, and the political wrangling over our future may lead us to another place. My hope is that the Spirit will lead us to a place of unity.

As much as I love and admire my family, the second thing I realized last night is that I truly don’t want to be exactly like my multiple-great grandfather, Rev. Prior. I don’t want to serve a church that splits, as he did. My hope is to serve a church that manages, in spite of distance and differences, to stay together, just like the very best families do.

David Firestone

David Firestone. Seeing his name in this morning’s obituaries brought back a rush of fond memories and a renewed awareness of the huge role he played in making me the pastor I am today.

David was lay leader of one of the first churches I pastored, Epworth-Roanoke UMC. The product of the merger of two churches near KU Med Center, it was a small church with a loving congregation. I was privileged to spend five years there in less-than-full-time ministry during our three children’s preschool and early elementary years. David’s wife, Helen, taught my children in Sunday school with great love and patience, which was the best gift that this pastor/mother could receive.

David was a WW2 vet, and his kindness, gentleness, and wisdom reflected the epitome of the Greatest Generation. He was a preacher’s kid himself (his dad was Rev. O.S. Firestone), and his parsonage childhood made him particularly supportive of pastors. Being in a small church meant that he worked with many fresh-to-ministry pastors, yet he never held our inexperience against us. He was willing to try any scheme to reach out to the diverse community surrounding the church, and if he ever was less-than-enthusiastic about some crazy idea I had, I never knew it. His unwavering support taught me to receive with gratitude the gift of the laity with whom God has blessed me in every congregation. 

In thinking about how to describe David’s true heart and soul, an event came to my mind that occurred many years after I left that church. Epworth-Roanoke had one of the largest endowments of any church I’ve served, especially for a church that size. In spite of our best efforts, and in spite of the best efforts of the pastors who succeeded me, the time came when the church decided to close. When I heard about that decision, I asked a couple of questions. Had the “regulars” stopped attending? Had the endowment dried up? After all, the church could stay open for many more years simply by spending that money. No, I was told. The core group of members was still mostly there, and the endowment remained in its entirety. However, they had decided that they weren’t going to be able to bring in new people, and so they wanted to go ahead and close while they were still able to send the endowment to the Missouri Conference where it could be used to seed new churches and bring in new members. That grace-full decision had the fingerprints of David Firestone all over it.

As I read these words, they seem somehow inadequate to express the impact of David on my ministry. His impact was not based on huge, glamorous moments, but on the steady, calm, day-to-day, grace-infused leadership that he offered the congregation and this pastor. 

To honor David, I’ve rescheduled a significant meeting tomorrow so that I can attend his funeral. (Thanks for understanding, Mayor.) The weather forecast indicates that ice might keep me away in spite of my best intentions. Even if I cannot make it to the service, I remember once again the grace that he offered so generously to a young pastor and mother, and I smile with fondness and gratitude. May your spirit live on in all of us who have been blessed to know you.