is able to perpetuate the belief that marriage and the family are the highest forms of human relationship it will be able to perpetuate itself as a heterosexual family–oriented institution . . . Heterosexual relationships and marriage as traditionally experienced are basically unhealthy.10
Under the “test the spirits” rubric, I referenced Thomas Maurer, a UCC minister and counselor, who argued that one’s sexual choices should be viewed as no more value weighted than one’s choice of cuisine.
I concluded with several propositions:
• First, the need “to confess the fallen aspects of our own sexual imaginations and practices . . . seeking to bring them into conformity with the mind of Christ.”
• Second, in civil society we need to oppose oppression and seek justice. In church we need to receive all persons on the basis of their Christian confession.
• Third, when it comes to the blessing or performing of same–sex unions in the life of the church, “we will decline courteously and firmly,” regarding this not as a civil matter but a consideration subject to Christian discretion.
The denomination into which I was ordained in 1968, the United Church of Christ, drew me in part on the basis of its history of social activism, its defense of the powerless. In the past couple of decades, the epigram, “God is still speaking” (alleged to have been first uttered by that great theologian, Gracie Allen), appeared as the sum of the denomination’s theories. In relation to the homosexual question, this meant that seven biblical passages, the natural law tradition and the advice of the historic church were inferior guidelines to the will of God when compared with the contemporary zeitgeist.
Once upon a time, I picked up the phone and called the UCC headquarters office in Cleveland, Ohio. I asked for the LGBT office. In a few seconds a male voice responded. We spoke courteously. Then I asked, “If I had called the UCC offices and asked for the office of traditional marriage, where would I have been referred?” He did not know. Now one should ask for LGBTQ, in order to be politically correct.
The UCC has prided itself on being the foremost mainline denomination in advocacy of the gay rights movement. A steep price has been paid. In 1957–1958 the UCC body came into being listing 2.4 million members. Now the claim is to 900,000 or so. The denomination’s leadership has been willing to jettison its members not on the LGBT bandwagon. Its small new member growth in recent years, to a significant extent, came through accession of members from the Metropolitan Church, the gay/lesbian dominant denomination. Even this has not prevented the most momentous membership decline among the major Protestant denominations. And as time goes by, there’s an effort to push the envelope. For example, now all sexuality education from cradle to grave is carried out jointly with the Unitarian–Universalist denomination.
Once, while Interim Minister at Bethel Church, I sat my confirmation class down to see a UCC produced film on the Amistad Incident, in which Congregationalists had played a virtuous and courageous Christian role. Much to my consternation, toward the close of the film there came a bit about the continual role of the UCC in its pursuit of peace and justice, including the gay rights movement in church and state.
As a matter of fact, the UCC denomination has gained a foothold on the pedestal it has chosen. If people hear of the UCC they think, “Oh, that’s the gay rights church.”
In 1998, four denominations approved a Formula of Agreement which enabled clergy in all four denominations to receive each other’s ministers without much problem. As I write, three of those denominations—Lutheran ELCA, Presbyterian USA, and the UCC, have experienced horrendous internal spasms over the ordination of practicing gay and lesbian persons, the approval of which has caused massive loss of churches and members. The other body, Reformed Church in America, at its 2016 national assembly, once again refused to move out of its traditional posture.
With a few inclusions and nuances different, I would be pleased to speak from the pulpit today in the same manner I did in 1978. In the meantime, I have endured considerable ordeals, external and internal, which I will not elaborate upon here, over same–sex issues. One must confess that only God in wisdom knows the truth. Surely we see through a fragmented mirror and spy various images. I think the Catholic Church, with its ethical foundation in natural law, offers the best clues for clarity here.
I would add a pastoral note. Through the years, I have had opportunity to minister to practicing gay and lesbian persons. While I have held opposition to their lifestyle, I believe I have been enabled to treat them in the same manner as I would anyone else. Their response to me and my ministry indicates they felt treated well. I say this in credit to the Spirit, not to myself.
A lot of water under the bridge since the Spring of 1978. A whole torrent, in fact. The eddies in the stream had only begun to ripple. The deluge, now forty years old, was building. Now the flood is upon us.
May 18, 1980—When Mt. St. Helens Blew
I had announced that for the all–church picnic in Reany Park the pastor had ordered a perfectly beautiful day. And so it was. Warm for May. Bright blue skies shone overhead as we gathered for morning worship. Afterward many of us stopped by our homes to don casual clothes and head for the park.
We had no idea that 300 miles to our west Mt. St. Helens had blown her stack. There had been plenty of advance warnings of the volcanic eruption. “Don’t go there!” red zone parameters were established. Still, when she blew her top some fifty of God’s children lost their lives. Others managed to outrace the hot ash and survive.
There we were playing games, conversing, preparing picnic food, and generally enjoying the day. Unaware were we that the mountain had exploded while we were in worship. At some point I looked to the west and saw a black line across the horizon below the cloudless sky. I said to my wife, Dianne, “That looks like the approach of a Midwest thunder storm.”
Then from across the street, where he lived, the Lutheran Campus Minister, Roger Pettenger, hurried toward us. This is what I remember him shouting: “Don’t you people know what’s happened? Go home!” We did.
By late afternoon the ash, blown by the trade winds, had reached Pullman, Washington, on the Idaho border. It fell like a heavy grey snow. Unprecedented! Calm people became agitated. Nervous people reacted with patience. Public schools suspended classes. Washington State University (WSU) closed for the term, causing seniors to be concerned if they would graduate.
By the next morning two inches of ash lay on the Palouse hills. Some forty miles north, six inches fell and choked the winter wheat. Light like talcum powder when dry and heavy as cement when dampened. The scientists at WSU and at University of Washington could not agree as to the danger to the lungs of this ash, but there was a run in the drug stores on face masks. All seemed to agree that this ash bore real danger to internal combustion vehicles.
A week later, on May 25, 1998, my pulpit word title read, “Fall Out.” It was Pentecost Sunday. I spoke of “ambiguous fall–outs” such as ash that clogs motors and injures lungs but might mix with the Palouse soil to produce fine crops. (This latter result indeed happened.) And then I called attention to “benevolent fall–outs” epitomized in the birth of the Church when the Spirit of God fell on praying and believing people empowering them to give unashamed witness to the Christ who brings wholeness into the world, a fall–out we still need. And then, in preparation for Holy Communion, I referred to the need for the bread to be broken in order to enter us. I used a quotation from the Jesuit priest, Daniel Berrigan, “When I hear bread breaking, I see something else. It seems as if God never meant us to do anything else . . . so beautiful a sound . . . the crust breaks up like manna and falls all over everything. And then we eat—bread gets inside humans.”
