Identity

Putting a Stake in the Ground: Figuring Out Your Church's Identity

How the “Passing of the Peace” Became and Act of War

After the September 11 attacks in 2001, it occurred to me that we needed to call attention in worship to the cycle of violence, which I believed had surely been inaugurated. It wasn’t that violence was a new thing ushered into the world by planes that flew into buildings. But I was sure that the attacks of 9/11 would profoundly affect how most Americans experienced the world in some way.

On the other hand, with the saber-rattling I knew would come, I thought it important to draw attention to an important reality for Christians: Our identity as followers of Jesus is shaped by the realization that when Jesus was confronted with violence, he elected to absorb it rather than inflict it.

I knew people would be calling for somebody’s blood. How should those who follow Jesus respond? I struggled with that question.

How could the church continue to be a subversive counter-cultural alternative to the frantic calls for some kind of military vengeance that would come?

How might we embody within worship our resistance to the calls for violence?

I spoke at great length with the other minister at the church where I was serving at the time, and we decided that the most faithful and subversive liturgical act would be one that refused to allow violence to define us. We quickly decided that the Eucharist speaks most loudly about the relationship of Christians to violence.

But how could we observe it in such a way as to highlight the profoundly peaceful nature of the Lord’s Supper?

Peace.

Hey! How about we include the Passing of the Peace right smack dab in the middle of communion?

“There’s something,” we thought. “We could put the Passing of the Peace as the act that immediately precedes the approach to the table. We could say that as long as we’re still at war, as Christians we’ll defy conventional wisdom by offering one another the ‘peace of Christ’ as a prelude to our most sacred act.”

“I like it.”

“Done.”

And that’s just what we did. On the Sunday after 9/11 we passed the peace during communion. I explained why we were doing it, why historically the “Passing of the Peace” had been placed within the confines of the service of the table.

I made clear that we were following the historic lead of the dissenting voices that comprise Christian faithfulness when it comes to the issue of violence.

There was some grumbling. Of course, anytime you change worship, people will gripe. We figured that would happen.

What we didn’t expect was the intensity of some of the complaints.

So, on Monday after that first Sunday of eucharistic peace-passing, I was sitting in my office, when the phone rang.

“Hello, pastor?”

“Yes?”

“This is Gladys.”

“Hello, Gladys. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about communion yesterday.”

“Ah, yes. The ‘Passing of the Peace?’”

“That’s right. I didn’t like it.”

“I see. What about it didn’t you like?”

“Communion is a quiet time. It’s my personal time. That thing we did yesterday was loud, and noisy. It was disruptive is what it was. And I want make sure that’s the last time we do that.”

“Well, as I explained yesterday, we’re going to keep doing it as long as we’re at war.”

“I don’t want to wait that long. You ruined communion for me yesterday. I want it to stop.”

“I understand why you might feel that way.”

“So, you’re going to quit?”

“No.”

“You mean you’re going to do it again next Sunday?”

“That’s pretty much it, yeah. We’re going to do it next Sunday, and the Sunday after that, and probably the Sunday after that.”

“So, you won’t be surprised when I get up in the middle of communion and walk out?”

“No. Now that you warned me, I guess not.”

“And if I leave, I’m never coming back.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know that must be a difficult decision to make. We’re going to miss you.”

“After all I’ve said, you’re still going to go through with it?”

“Of course. You wouldn’t respect me if I wasn’t as firmly committed to my principles as you are to yours. I think what we’re doing highlights a critical aspect of what it means to follow Jesus.”

Now, I’d like to say that the decision to keep passing the peace during communion made everyone else happy. It didn’t. Looking back, that was probably the beginning of the end for me at that particular congregation.

Even so, I thought (and continue to think) it was right to do it.

Being Who You Are, Not Who People Think You Should Be

Living in a market-based economy, we tend to think in terms of customer satisfaction. The utilitarian calculation about maximizing the greatest pleasure for the most people drives the economic engine of capitalism. Businesses become successful in a capitalist economy by figuring out what people want, then giving it to them.

There are any number of ways to do that, not least of which is the “customer survey.” I get untold number of solicitations to take surveys–via email, over the phones, walking in the mall, at the cash register in the restaurant.

Sometimes I’m even offered a premium in return (money, gift cards, to be put into a drawing for a chance at a new _____), so badly do companies want to know what I think.

Now, many of these surveys are merely trying to find out how I think the business is doing. Are they providing the service or product they advertise? Do I like the look, taste, texture, durability, hospitality for which I’ve paid?

I understand this kind of market research, and I think it’s probably in my best interest that businesses are trying to figure out how better to do what they do. If I consistently find toenails in my pot pie, the offending eatery presumably has a stake in possessing that information.

Being the kind of establishment that wants this information is a good thing for a business.

There are other kinds of market surveys, though, that seem to want me to tell the company who I think they should be. What should they be concentrating on? If I could pick from a list of core principles, which one do I think is most important?

This kind of market research I find troubling. My first thought is: “If you don’t know who you should be, why should I help you figure it out?”

Don’t get me wrong. Knowing who you are is important information to have. All I’m saying is that asking other people to give it to you is dangerous, and a possible signal that you should be doing something else.

The first kind of survey is designed to improve service, and is therefore almost always a good thing.

The second kind of survey is designed to provide identity, and, I would like to suggest, is a sign of organizational flailing.

Churches, in a market-based economy, are prone to imitating business practices. Surveys are no different. Churches often seek the kind of information found in surveys, whether formally or informally.

In the case of the first kind of survey–the “How are we doing?” survey–I think this kind of information can be extraordinarily helpful, something churches should want to know:

  • Were you greeted when you came in the door?
  • Did you find the signage sufficient?
  • Was the nursery inviting?
  • Do you prefer Charmin or Cottonelle in the bathrooms?

Or for Emergent communities:

  • Bock or Pale Ale?

In the case of the second kind of survey–the “Who do you think we should be?” survey–I think this demonstrates a lack of vision and purpose. It’s a sign of organizational flailing.

“Oh, come on! That doesn’t happen.”

Really?

Anytime you make decisions based not on who you are, but on who you think potential “customers” (in this case, that’s often code for, “young families”) want you to be, you’re turning over your most precious treasure (i.e., your identity) to the people who know the least about it.

“What kind of worship should we have?”

“Good worship.”

“No. I mean, if we want to grow, what kind of worship should we have?”

“Good worship.”

“You’re not understanding me. If we want to grow, should we try the whole praise teams and projectors thing? That huge church down the street does it, and the young people seem to like it.”

“What makes you think the young people like it?”

“Well, they have a lot of young people and they have that stuff. It doesn’t take a genius.”

“Actually, I’m not nearly so sure the young people like ‘that stuff’ so much, but whatever. I understand what you’re asking. You don’t understand what I’m answering.”

“Huh?”

“Look. What form of worship best expresses the majesty of God and the rigors of following Jesus, while at the same time represents the sensibilities of the congregation? Do that well and people will show up–or they won’t. But worship isn’t something you do to attract people; it’s something you do because God deserves it.”

The point is: You can’t look to other people to define you. Figure out who you are, and then make sure you do it excellently.

Ask people how you can make what you do better.

Don’t ask people to tell you who you are.

Do the work of reflection. Then put a stake in the ground.

But remember: It’s a stake, not a weathervane.

Stop Tarrying with the Negative

When I learned that the editors of [D]mergent were interested in contributions from me, I was both flattered and intimidated. I had honestly already decided that I wanted to contribute something, but the fact that they reached out to me before I had to try and impose myself suddenly made me realize just how out of place I feel among those who have already contributed. Consider the following: I am not an ordained minister. I am not a seminary student. I am not actively seeking a call to ministry. I am not an academic (anymore), and I am certainly no expert on the emergent church movement. I have received little formal theological training. I spend my week in an office doing things that are about as far removed from ministry as I am able to imagine. I am not a church professional, even though I have spent enough time around them to be able to talk the talk to some extent.

I find that I am also unusual among "emergent types" in my generally positive relationship with the institutional church. Many in the emergent church seem to be disillusioned with their youthful adherence, forced or voluntary, with more conservative expressions of evangelical Christianity. Although I had my share of run-ins with this brand of the faith growing up in rural Kentucky, I was not raised to be a fundamentalist or a biblical literalist, and I never felt the attraction to become one. I actually rejected Christianity as intellectually untenable until I went to college and took courses in Biblical studies with professors who were both devoted Christians and humane, broad-minded intellectuals. After they put the faith back into good intellectual odor for me, I have been a professed Christian ever since. I was active in a United Church of Christ congregation through six years of graduate school, and since 2002, I have been a member of a Disciples of Christ congregation.

Perhaps, though, it is because of, rather than in spite of, my relative oddity in this context that I feel compelled to add my voice to the conversation. I have my own scars and my own baggage where church is concerned, but they don't burden me too much. I have my own issues with not wanting to be identified as one of "those" Christians, but deep down I know that the humane, loving Christianity I encounter in worship and prayer is stronger than the angry, ideological version of the faith on offer in so many quarters.

For too long, we have expended too much energy convincing ourselves and others of who and what we are not. While it is good to clarify that we offer an alternative, especially for people who have been damaged by other faith traditions, if all we are able to offer people is the ability to say "I am not that," we do not help people to become who they are and who God calls them to be. It is, in fact, a mirror image of the very exclusivity we never tire of diagnosing in other Christian traditions: "We are not illegal immigrants. We are not gay. We are not liberals. We are not..." Defining oneself solely by negation fosters, in the end, nothing but spiritual emptiness.

It is time for the church to stop tarrying with the negative. It is time for all of us, myself included, to learn the risks and rewards of being something and to shed the easy self-satisfied comfort we take in not being something else. I am no paragon of excellence in this regard, but I hope to be on the way and, should God will, to be part of the church's learning to be something as well. I look forward to walking along the way with you.

By Brian Cubbage

Brian Cubbage is a member and Elder of Douglass Boulevard Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in Louisville, KY. He and his wife, Cheryl, have a young (but rapidly growing) son. Brian has numerous interests, some more embarrassing than others. The picture is not really of Brian; photos of him are rumored to exist but their authenticity is highly doubtful.