Pulling Out Planks
Those of us who speak for inclusion will always be tempted to exclusion.
Like all human beings, we will be tempted by our own individual cargoes of prejudice.
But we will be tempted, as well, by the desire to exclude those who conscientiously practice exclusion.
To act lovelessly toward those who do not meet our standards of love.
“A good man’s failing”, it might have been called, in a different time and place; an excess that is easily chalked up to righteous zeal.
But this is a grave matter that cannot be dismissed in so disarming a fashion.
For it is a dangerous business, this exclusion of those who do not meet our standards of love.
It is a two-edged sword that cuts both ways.
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In many cases, the temptation carries the day.
Which will always come as a shock to our young idealists.
One of their earliest tests is to deal with the fact that there are inconsistencies in the business of inclusion.
So they go to work for an organization that advances the cause of equality, only to find that the organization is managed as a petty dictatorship.
Or they go to work for an organization that advances the cause of a particular group, only to find that there is rank discrimination against other groups.
We must never forget, and they must never forget, and we must help them to remember that their shock is a valid response.
For their ideals, if they are not a current reality, are a center to which we aspire.
Experience in the ways of the world will bring us to acknowledge the dreary facts of reality, but we need not cynically dismiss that center as a naïve dream.
Not so long ago, many of our current facts of reality would have been considered to be naïve dreams.
The ideals of equality seep but slowly across our laws, our social mores and our families.
We forget, at our peril, that our founding fathers were, as the name suggests, all men, all Christian men, all Christian men who were landowners, all Christian land-owning men, many of whom also owned slaves.
For their ideals, if they are not a current reality, are a center to which we aspire.
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We who promote inclusion in the name of Jesus will always be tempted to exclude those who do not believe the way that we do.
How could it be otherwise?
For, like people in every age, we define ourselves by contrast.
We seek to illuminate an other, in order to illuminate ourselves.
Which will always result in an us and a them.
A we and a they.
A we and a they? In the name of Jesus? So which side do we figure he’ll be on, I wonder? He will be on a side, right? He does subscribe to our strategy of self-definition by contrast, doesn’t he?
And when, in total outrage at the inhumane treatment of our sisters and brothers, we…
Do what?
Or when, in total outrage at the lack of concern for Jesus’ commandments, we…
Do what?
Isolate, demean, shun, lash out, and more?
Raise our sword?
It is a two-edged sword that cuts both ways.
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I believe that we who promote inclusion in the name of Jesus are called to remember our center.
In describing an alternative view of Christianity, I have tried to avoid characterizing negatively any particular traditional Christian denomination.
To me, it does not seem to matter much whether one lives in Corinth or Antioch.
I have referred to Petrine Christianity as the defining characteristic of the traditional Christian church.
Like people in every age, we define ourselves by contrast.
But I do so at my peril if, by using the term "Petrine Christianity", I attach a label to all traditional congregations and all of their members, or even to the entirety of any one of it’s members.
Once, many years ago, in my ecumenical travels, I came to know a people who were so utterly loving; a small congregation in a denomination that one would think would have nothing to do with my home denomination…a people so tied in with their past, I felt that I had stumbled across Brigadoon…my relationship with them remains one of the joys of my life.
And, through all the years, not one attempt to persuade me to move from Corinth to Antioch.
And I remember the members of the Mennonite community to whom I referred in “October Song”; those Christians who came to help with the hands-on work of repairing a community devastated by a natural disaster: “They immediately set to work, contributing hundreds of hours of manpower to the task of removing debris. They spoke little, preached not at all, and asked for nothing. They came with their own tent and cooked their own food. Then they left. Their witness has born a half-century of fruit.”
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These experiences, among others, help to keep me honest.
They keep me from hacking out neat divisions between people.
They take the sword out of my hands.
They keep me from turning others into adversaries.
Which would turn me into an adversary.
For, after all, an adversary…to what?
Their patriarchal, Petrine foundations?
Their opinions, principles and articles of belief?
I do believe that all opinions, principles and articles of belief are open for discussion, consideration and debate.
That is part of the riotous glory of our time and place.
But adversaries?
With all of the enmity, rancor, and outright hatred that has dominated our Christian disagreements over matters of faith?
Would we, who promote inclusion in the name of Jesus, suffer faith to prevail over love?
And even if we believe that those who fall short in the area of love are our enemies, we cannot escape the words of Jesus.
For he advised a particular treatment of enemies, but it did not refer to lovelessness.
Much less to a fastidious fear of “aiding and abetting”.
So even if our vain imaginations concoct a list of enemies, those whom we so designate are not deserving of lovelessness.
Not even them.
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Not to mention the publicans and sinners.
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They keep me from turning others into adversaries. Which would turn me into an adversary.
“I become the thing I hate”.
Surely not that.
In either sense.
Neither to hate nor to become full of hate.
For if we who speak so passionately for inclusion in the name of Jesus fall into this trap, we will be cut by the sword that we wield.
If we, who speak against the exclusive tendencies of the Petrine church, become impressionistic, impulsive and violent, quick to anger and slow in compassion, then we will have become what we are not.
We will have become Peter.
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This has always been, and will continue to be, a great struggle.
How could it be otherwise?
It is a struggle that is cobbled onto our very conception of God.
The God of mercy; the God of wrath: the God of infinite love; the God of righteous indignation at the spectacle of human lovelessness.
We have never completely reconciled these visions.
We speak of the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament; we speak of the God of mercy who will give way to the God of judgment; but we have failed to merge these images into the unity demanded by the call of the prophet:
The Lord is one.
Perhaps our struggles with these images reveal nothing more, and nothing less, than our struggles with ourselves.
A sticking point that is not so easily prayed away.
Preserved and presented, perhaps, for our consideration.
For if we resolve it in ourselves, then perhaps it won’t be such a sticking point in the way we look at bigger things.
And the terrifying figure of an exclusive God will fade…
Like the nightmarish figure of a teacher that fades as we cease to bully;
Like the hellish figure of a boss that fades as we cease to dominate;
Like the ghastly figure of a parent that fades as we cease to try to become God;
We have met the enemy...and he is us.*
…when we see the exclusivity in ourselves, and determine to move beyond it.
And we, who have always sought for more than teachers, bosses or parents; we, who have always sought for greatness of heart, will find peace.
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This ends the fifth and final part of the current series on inclusion.
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I post new articles twice-monthly in “Author’s Corner”.
If you live in or near the Lakes Region of New Hampshire, and you would be interested in meeting with others for discussion or prayer, please contact me at rob@towarddawn.org. All are welcome, regardless of identity or personal choices. Please understand that I do not have the resources to guarantee that I will be able to read or respond to all other correspondence.
Toward Dawn is a privately-funded outreach, and it neither solicits nor accepts contributions.
Rob Wright
*Walt Kelly, Pogo, 1970.
Rob Wright holds advanced degrees in education and performing arts, and he has been a professional teacher for over sixteen years. In his home denomination, he has served as a lay minister in liturgical, educational and ecumenical activities. He lives in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire with his spouse of twenty years and their daughter.
