The Seeds of Unity -- Words to Session, September, 2020

This was a message delivers to the Session of Second Presbyterian Church. We'd been reading book by Allen Hilton about division in the church, A House Divided. The flowers in Indianapolis were beautiful in the Fall. The above photo was taken by my wife, probably while we were walking the dog.

According to Allen Hilton, my parents are an endangered species. Their marriage, Allen hints, has cut against the grain of sociological surveys, it has countered the lofty political predictions. Indeed, after reading Hilton’s chapter, I’ve never been prouder of my parents for raising me in this antiquated and curious familial experience. A family with one parent democrat and the other republican – call it a mixed party household.

Growing up, I remember spending hours over meals with my parents arguing about tax policy, state involvement in healthcare, immigration, etc, etc, etc. My father a Wyoming cowboy boot conservative and my mother a Colorado, rocky mountain liberal. As elections approached they would tease each other about who performed better at political debates, or whose convention would rally the base, or what post-war governmental programs needed to be consolidated to better balance the budget – okay, that last one’s a stretch.

As Allen Hilton tells us, there is something absurd about the love, trust, honesty, and beauty of my parent’s marriage. After all, in today’s heightened political climate, many would say that there was nothing of real importance that my parents agreed upon. To many outsiders, our dinner table might’ve seemed like the colosseum for political gladiator matches – arguing, eating, debating, eating, questioning, eating.

But before they were members of a political party, prior to the vote they cast at the ballot box, more essential than the campaign donations given – my parents were captive to an even more beautiful and absurd claim: my parents were Christian.

The rhythms of their life together -- their involvement in church, their care for the marginalized, their habits of prayer – these held their lives together. The unity of my parent’s life together was held together, not by an intellectual agreement or a shared moral vision, but rather by a trust in God’s covenantal promises for the entire world.

Now, don’t get me wrong, unity can be a dangerous concept – too often it has led to quietism, it has forced our silence when we should’ve spoken out. Unity often demands a sacrifice – we won’t always get our way. But too often, for the sake of unity, a minority of individuals has had to sacrifice more than the rest of us.

But as Christ says according to St John, the church unified is the evidence of the Christian Gospel. It is what weaves us into the “Holy Catholic Church” that we confess in the Apostle’s Creed.

Done right, unity requires bravery. As Hilton alludes, it demands that we re-examine ourselves, our spaces, and the histories that keep us separated from those that are not like us.

But, if I’ve learned anything from my parents, the unity shared between Christians is about much more than what we say or believe. It is about the trust and compassion that the Holy Spirit will build between us if we let Her. And for the exasperated and frustrated, when we are strung out and have given up, when we storm away from the dinner table, Christian unity is only possible because when we let everything go, the Spirit continues to hold us in our weakness.

There is a beautiful poem written by the Maine poet Phillip Booth that describes the moment when he taught his young daughter to swim. It viscerally describes the courage demanded of that young girl as she fears sinking, but it also details the compassionate words of a father. Booth writes:

“As you float now, where I held you/ and let go, remember when fear/cramps your heart what I told you:/ lie gently and wide to the light-year/ stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.”

So, Session of Second Presbyterian Church, hold close to the promises that your Father in heaven has promised you. For unity is a dangerous, outlandish, and beautiful thing. It demands your bravery and conviction. But even when discouragement fills your heart – when you feel strung out, pissed off, fractured, and beleaguered. Fear not. Lie back, and God’s grace will hold you.

Amen.