CW: narcissistic abuse, nonaffirmation

One evening a couple of winters ago,

I sat in an intimate circle of pastors and community leaders. We were invited to share a six-word story about our reason for coming. I would discover later that Ernest Hemingway may have inspired the practice with this story that still wrecks me: “For sale, baby shoes; never worn.”

One of the pastors worded his story this way: “Far from home; I never left.”

He described a pattern familiar to many of us from various faith traditions. He noted that the ethos and relational values of Jesus–which long have created safety and belonging in church communities–are increasingly being sacrificed on the altar of “the cost of doing business.”

The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill podcast helped many of us recognize the slippery slope from passion to pathology. And the work of Chuck DeGroat, Scot McKnight, and Laura Barringer, has helped many of us recognize our role in keeping narcissistic abuse in check inside our homes and places of worship. But is there a litmus—a way to assess the safety of our church community or a new one we’re trying?

How can we tell if a church is safe?

We can’t know fully but I’ll share a few questions that might be helpful to ask.

“How are disagreements handled in this community?”

Last week in our church leadership meeting, a question was raised that sparked some animated discussion. A young couple in our community had inquired whether one of our pastoral staff would baptize their infant. We had baptized many youth and adults who requested it, but this was different.

The conversation this request sparked in our leadership team was trust-inspiring. Different perspectives raised; we didn’t rush to a decision. We genuinely listened to one another. We invited those who had been quieter to share their questions and observations. We considered scripture, and ultimately we arrived at a consensus. Being present for the process of discerning that decision felt like a sacred privilege. I sensed it was a moment where the Spirit was guiding us (John 16).

The metaphor of the early church was a body; in our lifetime, however, in many places the church has functioned more like a business.

Conceiving of the church as a “body” transforms the quality of our relationships. Being a “body” renders every conversation, disagreement, and mutual discernment potentially sacred. Being a “body” together transforms occasions of conflict into opportunities to listen to one another and enter into spiritual discernment together.

Being a “body” may slow down, bottle neck, or even derail us from getting through a meeting’s agenda. May God give us patience to accept this. When a body is stretching, healing, or experiencing growing pains, rushing is useless anyway. In its organic wisdom, the body knows when to slow down, rest, listen to each member, and trust that something more powerful–something eternally important–may be happening.

“How are members of cultural minority groups treated?”

For quite a while following Jesus’ death and resurrection, the apostles were still seeing divisions and distinctions between “clean” and “unclean” people. And then, we read in Acts 10 and 11 that God drew close to Peter and changed how Peter was seeing things.

Peter came to see that part of the miracle of the body of Christ is that it brings together people who otherwise may never have a reason to sit next to one another, to break bread with each other, or to come to see one another’s bodies as sacred and as holy as one’s own.

But after Peter’s rooftop prayer experience, in Acts 10 he says this: “God has shown me I should not call anyone profane or unclean.” There is no distinction between us – we are members of one body – and your body is as sacred and holy as mine, and mine as sacred and holy as yours. Peter was open to God showing him where he had been wrong in how he was seeing – not just things but people. And that ended up changing everything.

When a decision is being taken up that impacts members of a cultural minority group, does the church have a practice for seeking representation from members of that group?

A few years ago, when our church community entered into a spiritual and scriptural discernment process to reconcile affirmation with our denomination’s nonaffirming position, our pastoral team recruited several of our queer leaders to form an advisory board.

Likewise, when topics surface in the preaching lectionary related to members of minority groups or survivor groups–women, or racial minority members, or survivors of sexual assault, for instance–the teaching team’s practice is to reach out to representatives of those communities for input on the homily or sermon.

I appreciate when pastors and leaders are committed to seeking input from members of cultural minority groups who will be most directly impacted by the outcome of decision, policies, or direct teachings, comments, and illustrations from the pulpit.

“How do leaders care for their own bodies?”

When our stress rises, it becomes harder to perceive reality accurately. For too long our culture has deprioritized the body, the emotions, and the impact of stress and trauma on our cognitive capacities. As a colleague recently commented, “We like the illusion of ourselves as disembodied heads showing up to meetings.”

Stories like that inspired many of us to wonder if we could live such a life of faith and principle. And my sense of Mullins, whose life was cut short, was that he lived a life of conviction.

At the University of Texas in the mid-1990’s, a group of us organized an event we called “Resurrection Week” and one year we brought Rich Mullins to campus, an artist whose spiritual convictions were intriguing to many of us. As Mullins used to tell it, he never knew how much money his albums, tours, and videos made. He asked his manager to pay him “whatever the American blue collar worker made that year,” and to give the rest of the money away.

At the same time, my most memorable moment with Mullins was in a coffee shop; he played guitar and spoke into a microphone for some time about how his goal in life was to “abuse his body.” Then he told the story of an Irish fisherman whose wife knit him a sweater in a bright pattern, so that in the event he was washed overboard the fishing boat and his body turned up on shore unrecognizable, he could be identified by his sweater. Mullins said, “When I turn up in heaven, I want my body so worn out by life it’s unrecognizable.”

I don’t know, Mullins. I grieved when you died. And I don’t know that anything could have extended your time with us. But I know that caring for your own body is an act of love for your neighbor. Our bodies matter to one another. And the way we nourish, rest, and attend to our bodies directly impacts how our brain functions. When we neglect our body, it makes it more challenging to love our neighbor well and attune to the subtle movements of the Spirit.

∞

A body, whether that of an individual, or a church community, can tolerate a high degree of stress when it is stabilized by trust. A business on the other hand splits and splinters under stress. How might we say “yes” to the slower, more embodied rhythms of warm-bloodedness within our church communities? How might we listen and savor the sounds of its beating heart and expanding lungs—a body of many parts held together with trust that resists dismemberment?

Listening with you,