church – Southwest Conference Blog

There are two ways to look at a 250-year-old entity.

by Rev. Paul A. Whitlock

I have a confession to make, and if you’ve been around me for any length of time, it won’t come as a shock: I am still that nerdy, slightly sarcastic pastor who is utterly obsessed with the details. I’m the guy who wants to look past the Cliff Notes version of history, scratch beneath the surface, and figure out what is actually going on.

And this July 4^th weekend, the details are staggering.

The Fourth of July isn’t just any Fourth of July. We have officially crossed the threshold into the year 2026. Our nation celebrated its Semiquincentennial—a terrifyingly long word to spell or pronounce that simply means America is exactly 250 years old.

Two and a half centuries.

Now, if you tune into the television or scroll through social media this weekend, you are going to see a lot of grand celebrations. You’re going to see multi-million-dollar firework spectacles, endless parades, and politicians of every stripe wrapping themselves in the flag, telling us exactly what patriotism is supposed to look like.

For many progressive people of faith, a weekend like this can stir up some pretty complicated feelings.

We are often told by the louder voices in our culture that patriotism means blind allegiance. We are told it means uncritical praise. We are told that to love your country means you have to nod along, smile, and pretend that everything is—and always has been—perfectly fine.

But if you remember, our national anthem doesn’t end with an exclamation point. The song ends with a question mark: “O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

It’s an ongoing interrogation. And true patriotism doesn’t require us to ignore our history. It demands that we face it.

As we stand today, looking back at 250 years of this grand experiment called America, we have to ask ourselves: What kind of nation are we celebrating?

There are two ways to look at a 250-year-old entity. You can treat it like a monument, or you can treat it like a living tree.

A monument is made of granite or marble. It’s beautiful, it’s grand, and it’s completely dead. It never changes. It doesn’t grow. It doesn’t adapt.

If a monument cracks, you don’t heal it; you just patch the stone. The purpose of a monument is to look backward, to freeze a single moment in time and worship it.

A lot of the patriotism we see on display today is monument-worship. It’s an insistence that the ink dried in 1776, the story is finished, and our only job is to guard the stone.

But our faith calls us to something entirely different. Our faith calls us to look at our country as a living tree. A tree that was planted 250 years ago with some incredibly rich, revolutionary soil—the promises of liberty, equality, and the pursuit of happiness. But a living tree grows. A living tree faces harsh winters. A living tree gets diseased branches that have to be pruned. A living tree requires us to look at the soil and ask: Is every root getting enough water, or are some parts of the garden being left to rot?

When we look at America through the lens of faith, we are practicing what we call prophetic patriotism. We love the tree enough to pull the weeds around it.

Acknowledging the deep wounds of our society—whether it’s the crisis of homelessness on our streets, the systemic bias that still plagues our justice system, or the way we treat the environment—that isn’t un-American. It is the highest form of civic and spiritual responsibility. To love a nation is to hold it to its highest ideals.

The trouble is, the world doesn’t want us to look at the living tree. The world wants to put blinders on us. It wants to pump us full of fear and control exactly what we see.

Why? Because fear sells. Fear keeps people isolated in their tents. Fear convinces us that our neighbors are our enemies.

It is exhausting to live under that kind of cultural anxiety. It is a heavy, crushing pack to wear.

And it is precisely into that kind of exhaustion that Jesus speaks in our Gospel reading from Matthew. He looks at a crowd of people who are worn out by the demands of the world, worn out by religious systems that don’t give a damn about them, worn out by political empires that use them up, and he says:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Now, let’s look at the details of that text. When we hear the word “yoke,” we usually think of something restrictive, a symbol of slavery or hard, lonely labor. But a yoke in the ancient world was actually a tool of partnership. A yoke was a wooden frame designed for two oxen to pull together side-by-side.

When Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you,” he isn’t saying, “Go off and pull a heavy cart by yourself.” He is saying, “Get into the harness with me. Stop trying to carry the weight of the world on your own back. Let’s pull together.”

If America at 250 years old is an unfinished story, then you and I are called to get out of the world’s harness of cynicism and step into Christ’s yoke of justice. Prophetic patriotism means that we refuse to let our faith be locked up in the tent, and we refuse to carry the exhausting lie that things can never get better.

When the world looks at systemic poverty or the defunding of local programs and says, “Well, that’s just the way it is—it’s too heavy a problem to fix,” the church steps into the yoke. We roll up our sleeves. We know that when we pull together, the burden becomes light.

Every time we donate to a food pantry, every time we partner with local nonprofits to demand better housing and safer streets, every time we look at the immigrant and the asylum seeker, and we don’t see a political talking point—we see a child of God, a fellow traveler no different than our own ancestors who risked everything on the Mayflower because they were desperate for safety.

We bring Christ’s rest to the weary parts of our neighborhoods where the world has given up.

Church, humans are notoriously terrible at guessing what the future holds. We look at the shadows, we look at the thick smoke of political division, and we worry that the light at the end of the tunnel is just an oncoming train.

But God is really good at rewriting the future.

As we step into this 250th year of our nation, let us refuse to offer our country the cheap patriotism of blind allegiance. Let us offer it the deep, costly, beautiful gift of prophetic patriotism.

Let us be the light that shines forth love and civility when racism and misogyny rear their heads. Let us be the light of compassion and mercy when policies favor the rich at the expense of the poor. Let us keep our flags of welcome flying high, refusing to let fear dictate our gospel of radical hospitality.

This is our place. To bind up wounds. To comfort the grieving. To feed the hungry. To house the unhoused. And to proclaim the truth to the country we love, for as long as we have breath.

The weight of the next 250 years is too much for any of us to carry alone. But Christ’s yoke is easy, and Jesus’ burden is light. Let’s step into it, roll up our sleeves, and pull together. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Rev. Paul A. Whitlock, Senior Pastor at The Church of the Palms, UCC. Paul is driven by a passionate belief that faith should be active, inclusive, and deeply committed to social justice. A resident of the Southwest, he has developed a great love for the local landscape, spending his off-hours tending to his cacti, though he is just as likely to be found cheering on his favorite sports teams. This year marks a beautiful milestone for Paul and his wife, Wendy, as they celebrate 40 years of marriage. They have three grown children, a couple of very spoiled cats keeping things lively at home, and three spoiled grand-dogs.

Should worship comfort or challenge? 75/25

by Rev. Bill Utke

Perhaps you’ve heard of the 75/25 principle as it relates to worship. If not, you’re not alone—I came to it unexpectedly through an anti-racism training. But once I heard it, I found it gave me language for something I had long been trying to explain: why worship isn’t meant to be entirely comfortable or familiar.

Some of the most powerful worship experiences of my life happened when I stepped into spaces where the music, prayers, and voices reflected not just one culture, or tradition, but many—each thread woven together into a beautiful, harmonious tapestry. That’s the vision behind the 75/25 principle: a conscious effort to make worship not only meaningful, but mutually sacrificial, and spiritually stretching.

The 75/25 principle suggests that no one should feel more than 75% comfortable in a worship gathering. The remaining 25%—the unfamiliar song, the lyric in another language, the liturgy from a different tradition—is intentional. Even those traditional elements that may not resonate with us personally can serve a purpose. They gently nudge each of us beyond our comfort zones and into someone else’s sacred experience.

Rather than catering to a single preference or culture, this approach cultivates a shared experience of both comfort and discomfort—a kind of holy tension where everyone is, at different moments, both host and guest. In that space, each person gives something, receives something, and encounters God in the difference.

In practice, a worship service shaped by the 75/25 principle might:

Blend gospel rhythms with traditional hymns, and perhaps introduce a Taizé chant in another language.

Move between call-and-response participation and contemplative silence.

Include Scripture read by voices across generations, cultures, and accents.

Welcome expressions like clapping, lament, shouts of joy, or stillness—not as noise or absence, but as part of the sacred conversation.

Why It Matters

Worship is not simply about finding what feels right or familiar—it is about entering a sacred story together. The 75/25 principle reminds us that true worship is not always comfortable. It is transformative. It draws us closer not only to God, but to one another.

At its best, worship becomes a meeting place—where the familiar and the unfamiliar, the personal and the communal, the earthly and the divine all come together. And in that meeting, something holy is born.

Perhaps most importantly, this kind of worship creates space. It makes room not only for different traditions, but for different people. And in doing so, it reflects more fully the expansive, welcoming love at the heart of God.

Rev. William G. Utke has been ordained in the United Church of Christ since 1993. He has served congregations as Pastor and Intentional Interim Minister in Illinois, Michigan, Wisconsin, and Arizona. Since September 2021 he has served as Pastor and Teacher at Desert Garden United Church of Christ in Sun City West, AZ. He lives with is spouse, the Rev. Ann Utke, in Sun City, AZ.

“We refuse to practice cunning…” More of that, please!

by Rev. Deb Beloved Church

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

“We have renounced the shameful, underhanded ways; we refuse to practice cunning or to falsify God’s word, but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God.” (2 Corinthians 4:2)

That verse is the last one in the chosen lectionary passage for March 2, from Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2). The last—and as far as I’m concerned, in this moment, the most important.

We renounce the shameful ways. We renounce the underhanded ways.

We refuse to practice cunning. We refuse to falsify God’s word.

We commend ourselves by the truth of our claims.

We commend ourselves for each in their own conscience to judge.

We commend ourselves…with God looking on.

If only those declarations were undeniably the way of the Church. If only those assertions were what people unequivocally experienced when they interacted with the people of the Church. If only those articulations were unquestionably what came to mind when people thought about Christians.

But too often the way of the Church is to deliberately induce shame. And guilt. And fear. Not in the service of truth but in the service of manipulation.

And too often the people of the Church intentionally employ cunning and the falsification of God’s word. Again, not in the service of truth but in the service of control.

And too often people who self-identify as Christian commend themselves, yes, but in arrogance and self-righteousness, not inviting others to judge the truth of their claims, each within their own conscience, but rather doling out judgment to any who question their “truth.”

The Church is not meant to dispense shame and guilt; we humans do just fine creating more than enough of that on our own. Rather, the Church is meant to hold us, with tenderness and compassion, when we see those things within ourselves…and offer us acceptance, and forgiveness, and freedom from shame and guilt!

The people of the Church are not called to deceive and manipulate, using God’s word as a weapon and a tool for bullying. Rather, the people of the Church are called to live and love with integrity, using God’s word to express truth with kindness and courage.

People who self-identify as Christian are not called to commend themselves by their certainty and unwavering trust in themselves, unwilling to be examined or questioned. Rather, they are to commend themselves by their humility and their unshakeable trust in God, inviting all others into their own examination of God’s truth.

I claim to be part of the Church. I count myself among the people of the Church. I self-identify as a Christian…

Please, God—may.it.be.so.

Amen.

The Interruptions of Grace

by Rev. Lynne Hinton

In the first year of my second pastorate I planned a six-week book study for Lent. I selected the topic and bought books for the participants, developed a lesson plan, and was excited about this opportunity to study with the parishioners. On the first Wednesday of Lent, those who had signed up for the class showed up for the beginning night of the study. Everyone was there, including a parishioner who lived nearby the church in a group home and who attended every service at the church.

His name was Larry and I bought him a book and knew he would join the study even though his reading skills were quite limited and the class was a little too advanced for him. On that opening night, I began the session with prayer and immediately launched into the lesson for chapter one when Larry mumbled something. Thinking he was only speaking to the woman sitting next to him, I didn’t address him, but continued to move through the night’s lesson. He spoke out again and it was evident he had something to share.

“What is it Larry?” I asked, hoping it would be something easy that could be attended to and not impede the progress of the study.

He paused a minute and just before I could start the lesson again, he said, “My mama passed this morning.”

Surprised by the announcement, I asked again, “What, Larry?” And he repeated what he had just said. “My mama passed this morning.”

Immediately, everyone in the class began asking more questions, “When, Larry?” “What happened, Larry?” “Had your mother been sick?”

And I suddenly became very aware that the lesson I had planned was not going to go at all like I had expected. Having had some hospice training and knowing Larry, I left the fellowship hall where everyone was gathered, went to a Sunday School classroom and found some paper and crayons. I knew Larry liked to draw and thought he might prefer the opportunity to color a picture of his mother rather than answer more questions. I walked back in the room and placed the paper and box of crayons in front of him.

“Would you like to draw a picture of your mom in heaven?” And Larry instantly picked up a crayon and piece of paper and started coloring and for a minute, I considered the notion that maybe I could continue with the class, let Larry talk if he wanted, return to the conversation about his loss if desired; but, I thought, maybe we could just complete part of the first chapter. And I went back to my seat and was just about to start up again when something happened.

Every other person gathered around that table picked up a piece of paper too. And someone passed around the box of crayons and each one of them took one out and started coloring pictures just like Larry.

“Your mama was a good singer, Larry,” one of the deacons said as he drew. “I’m sure she’s singing in the choir up in heaven.”

“Oh, your mama made the best biscuits, Larry,” another lay leader added, coloring a picture of a woman at a stove. “I bet she’s already cooking up there.”

“And sew! Your mama made the prettiest dresses,” one more chimed in, the crayon moving across the page. And I stopped and just watched. Closed the book, put aside the well-laid plans, shut the folder of all of my carefully created notes, and watched as the leaders of that little parish cared for Larry.

It is, I now know, one of the best images of church I have. These church members putting aside their plans and needs and choosing to color pictures to help a son grieve his mother’s death.

That was the night I learned that sometimes God shows up only when we set aside our agendas, our well-laid strategies, and expectations for what is supposed to happen in church and in our lives and allow the Spirit to do what actually needs to be done.

As you move through your week, making your plans for vacation or family gatherings, for whatever it is you deem important, may you allow room for the interruptions of grace that remind you of what the Spirit wants to do.

The Little Church That Could

by Rev. Tina Campbell

I told them I wasn’t a parish pastor. My first gig was on the streets of the Southside of Chicago and I did no parish field work in seminary. I prayed in long houses in British Columbia and was perfectly at home inside a maximum security prison unit. Addicts and inmates, dying people and rebellious teenagers didn’t daunt me, but I certainly wasn’t a parish pastor. This is not to say that I am without faith. The kind of ministry I have experienced is not for the faint of heart. So ok…I’ll strike a deal. I’ll come and preach and then go home. They agreed to that. Then I watched them.

They did everything at the church. They cleaned the bathrooms. They replaced toilets. They brought food. They prepared the bulletins. There was a dog who sat in the front pew and seemed to listen to my sermons. There was a piano player who could make all my favorite songs fill the sanctuary with joy. They never said, “We’ve done enough.” They always said, “How can I help?” They never said, “I’m too busy.” They always said, “I’ll do that right away.” They didn’t just talk about the unhoused in our downtown Phoenix community, they showed up in person to visit with them. They made hundreds of blankets for our asylum seeking neighbors in Mexico and convinced non-church community members to bring carloads of food to place at our altar before distribution to local food banks. The men clean up the kitchen. They know stuff about addiction, incarceration, poverty, LBGTQ issues and loss.. They’re even fun, and they laugh and tease one another. They recently raised thousands of dollars to provide heat relief during our desert climate crisis.

After awhile, I started looking at their dear faces from the pulpit, and I realized that I loved them, especially the dog. It seems I’m a parish pastor after all. God certainly has a wild sense of humor.

I will not be among the hand wringers who prophesize the demise of the Christian church. I believe our strength is not in numbers, but in bold faith put into action. If we focus on acting out the Good News of the all inclusive Gospel, we can’t go wrong. Black Mountain United Church of Christ has taught me that. I say this with good authority. After all, I’m a parish pastor.

The Reverend Dr. Kristina Campbell

Transitional Minister Black Mountain United Church of Christ

Scottsdale, Arizona

The Art of Inviting: How to Extend an Extravagant Welcome

by Christopher Schouten, moderator at Black Mountain UCC, in a letter to church members

Hello, dear members of the Black Mountain United Church of Christ,

If you’re reading this, it’s likely that you’re passionate about our community and you’re keen on extending the warmth, love, and fellowship we share to others. However, the task of inviting someone to church can seem daunting, if not a little intimidating. You’re not alone – many people feel the same way.

The good news? Inviting someone to church doesn’t have to be a nerve-wracking experience. Here are a few practical suggestions on how to approach it:

1. Choose wisely: Everyone is potentially a great invitee. However, focusing on people you already have a connection with can be a more comfortable starting point. These could be friends, family members, coworkers, or neighbors. They’re already familiar with you, and you with them, which makes for a more organic conversation.

2. Know your audience: Before extending an invitation, try to understand the other person’s spiritual beliefs, interests, or needs. For instance, a friend grappling with grief might appreciate a supportive community, or a relative new to the area could be looking to make connections.

3. Practice empathy: Be mindful of your invitee’s comfort level. Respect their religious or non-religious beliefs and ensure your invitation does not come across as forceful or intrusive.

Now, let’s talk about how to start that conversation:

1. Find a natural segue: If the subject of faith, community, or church comes up in a casual conversation, that could be an opportune time to mention your church and extend an invitation.

2. Share your experience: Talk about why you love our church community and how it’s helped you. Personal stories resonate, and you’re more likely to spark interest this way. For instance, you could say, “I’ve been attending the Black Mountain United Church, and it’s been such a source of strength and community for me. I think you might enjoy it as well.”

3. Involve them in a church event: Instead of directly inviting them to a service, invite them to a non-religious event your church is hosting. It could be a community service project, a book club, or a potluck dinner. This will give them an opportunity to experience the community and decide if they’d like to explore further.

4. Use social media: If face-to-face invitations feel daunting, consider sharing your church experience on social media. A picture from a recent event or a quote from last Sunday’s sermon could pique someone’s interest.

5. Follow up, but don’t push: After extending an invitation, give the person some time to consider it. Be open to answering any questions they may have about our church but refrain from pushing them to give you an answer.

Remember, the goal isn’t to have a high ‘success rate’ of getting people to come to church. The true aim is to extend an open hand of friendship and love to those around us. Keep your intentions pure, stay patient, and you might be surprised by how many lives you touch.

Your role as a member of Black Mountain United Church of Christ extends beyond our weekly services. It’s about living our values and extending our spirit of community, one invitation at a time.

The human desire to put God in a box

by Rev. Deb Church

“To what can I compare this generation? They are like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling out to others:

‘We played the pipe for you, and you did not dance;
we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn.’

For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her deeds.” (Matthew 11:16-19, NIV)

These verses are part of Sunday’s lectionary Gospel text, and they got me thinking about the human desire to put God in a box… Here are a few more contemporary examples (or perhaps you have your own):

“I prayed desperately to God that my sister would survive when she got cancer. She didn’t. People told me if I had prayed harder, she would have lived…”

“So many people all over the world are starving. How can there possibly be a loving God who allows that to continue to happen??”

“When I go to church, I want to be comforted and inspired. The new minister says things that make me feel bad, so I don’t go any more. I just don’t believe God wants me to feel bad when I go to church!”

“There are so many lies told in the name of God, so much hurt inflicted in the name of God– God, can’t you please just smite the people who are saying and doing those terrible, hurtful things??”

“It says in the Bible, ‘Women should be silent in the churches. For they are not permitted to speak but should be subordinate…’ [1 Corinthians 14:34, NRSV] It seems perfectly clear that there should not be women preachers!”

Like the people of Jesus’s time, we like to think we know God–how God will act, of whom God approves, when God will show up, why (and on whom) God will pronounce both favor and judgment, what God has to say about a certain situation, etc.

Like the people of Jesus’s time, we are also people of faith, and therefore, we know God. And we know those things about God.

Well, we think we know those things…because surely, we know God…

Okay, if we’re honest, we really want to know those things…because we desperately want to believe that we know God. Because if we can convince ourselves that we know God, then we can convince ourselves that we understand God. And we believe we understand God, then we can predict God’s involvement in our lives, and in our neighbors’ lives, and in the lives of folks all around the world. And if we can predict God’s involvement in the world around us, then we can count on God’s action, when and where and how we expect it. And above all, perhaps, we will be assured that what we’re saying and doing and thinking and believing about God is good and right and true (and…that “theirs” is not).

Like the people of Jesus’s time, we know not of what we speak…

Like the people of Jesus’s time, we know not of whom we speak…

Like the people of Jesus’s time, who were also people of faith, when we claim certainty about God, and about how and where and when and among whom God will show up in the world, we will almost certainly miss it…

Like the people of Jesus’s time, we must not put God in a box. Instead, Jesus challenges us to look for signs of God’s presence, as “proved…by her deeds.” (Matt. 11:19b)

When we see truth, there is God.
When we see kindness, there is God.
When we see justice with mercy, there is God.
When we see solidarity with those who are suffering, there is God.
When we see deep laughter, gentleness, humility, and wisdom, there is God.
When we see compassion, peace, joy, and generosity, there is God.
When we see healing and reconciliation, there is God.
When we see wholeness, there is God.
When we see love, there is God.

We cannot know with certainty how and where and when and among whom God will show up. But we can know without a doubt that God is present and at work, in our lives and in all of God’s creation.

Almighty and Tender God, may our eyes and ears and minds and spirits be open to truly know you, to humbly see you, and to courageously join you in your work in the world.

May it be so.

Do Lent, or not do Lent

by Rev. Talitha Arnold, Senior Pastor, United Church of Santa Fe

“What the heck is Lent?” a friend asked. “What’s with the ashes, the morose songs, the somber colors? I thought the United Church was for happy Christians. Why do we have to do Lent?”

Truth be known, we don’t. “Doing Lent” or giving up something for the next 40 days isn’t required at the United Church of Santa Fe. As part of the United Church of Christ, we’re in the reform Protestant tradition (Congregational, Disciples of Christ, Baptists, etc.) that historically didn’t “do” Lent. In fact, many “free church” Protestants looked with suspicion on Lent. Some still do. Lent was something those Catholics, Lutherans, or Episcopalians did. The ashes, giving up meat or candy, all that purple was a bit too Popish or liturgical for our tastes. As my friend said, we were supposed to be happy Christians.

Other Protestants didn’t mark Lent, because as one friend observed, in her church it was Lent all the time. With all the rules against dancing, drinking, and card playing, they didn’t have anything to give up!

So technically, we don’t have to do anything or give up anything for Lent at the United Church of Santa Fe. But many of us have found that Easter has deeper meaning, if we set aside Lent’s 40 days for something other than life or business as usual.

If we wanted to sing in a concert, we’d need to set aside time to rehearse. To compete in a basketball tournament, we’d take time to practice our free throws. The same is true for our experience of Easter. To know new life in any form—spiritually, physically, intellectually—we need to take time to practice. Setting aside the 40 days of Lent for study, prayer, silence, and other spiritual disciplines is a way to engage new ideas, new feelings, new possibilities.

Sometimes to let in new life, we also have to let go of some things. Before you start a new project, you might need to clear off your desk. Before you ran a marathon, you might want to shed some weight. The same is true of our souls. Sometimes we need to clean out and shed extra baggage to make room for something new.

Observing Lent is not required for admission to Easter at the United Church. Come Easter morning, you’ll be as welcome at United as you are any morning.

But perhaps if we take the 40 days of Lent to practice new life or if we set aside time to remember the sacredness of our lives and all life, then maybe, just maybe, Easter might have a new meaning for us this year. We don’t have to “do Lent,” but we might be surprised what’s possible if we do.

Fasten your seat belts—Lent has come!

Get ready—because Easter is on its way!

Consent Matters!

by Rev. Teresa Blythe

How do we have a relationship with God that is truly consensual? I’ve been thinking a lot about this in light of all the cases of religious teachers and leaders who preyed on parishioners, abusing them sexually without a single thought to the power dynamic at play. These abusive religious leaders may think the relationship is consensual, but how much consent does a person really have if the one pursuing them is a trusted, powerful force in their life? How does one have mutuality with someone so high on a pedestal?

Let’s expand the question by infinity and consider our free will with God. I’ll never forget a conversation I had with a friend when we were both in seminary. I asked her if she believed in hell. She said, “NO. I don’t believe God is a violent abuser.” Growing up in an evangelical Christian tradition, I always had a question about consent related to what they taught about salvation. If my choice to follow Jesus is a choice between that or having the proverbial gun to my head (believe, or go to hell), then is it really a choice? It seemed like a religious version of the 70’s National Lampoon cover, “If you don’t buy this magazine, we’ll kill this dog.” You’re gonna buy the magazine!

A couple of years ago, the empowerment movement against sexual assault and abuse known as #MeToo spawned a similar #ChurchToo movement. Women from a wide variety of Christian denominations spoke out about sexual abuse at the hands of church leaders. Protestants who used to point fingers at the Catholic sex scandals now saw the finger pointed at them for the same crimes. It catalyzed whole new conversations about consent.

Did Mary actually have a choice about bearing God’s son? Wouldn’t anyone visited by an angel and told they would be incarnating a holy child feel compelled to say, well, OK?

Are we doomed to a life separated from God if we don’t say yes to God’s attempts to heal and renew us?

Is God more like a sensitive lover who makes sure we are ready to take the next step in our relationship before asking more of us? Or is God transactional and pushy, using God’s power to press us forward? “Do this and you’ll be OK. Don’t do it and you will be in a world of hurt.”

Many of the saints, mystics and today’s contemplative Christians line up on the side of God as sensitive lover, who uses divine lure and patience with us, waiting for us to fully consent before the transformative work begins. My favorite part of the welcoming prayer based on Fr. Thomas Keating’s teachings names this consent: “I welcome what I am experiencing this moment in my body as an opportunity to consent to the Divine Indwelling.”

Consent is of primary importance in spirituality. Do not allow anyone to coerce you into any belief, activity, or relationship. Spiritual directors must be especially careful not to be coercive in any way so that our clients always have freedom. I believe our consent is important to God. And that means it is important to spiritual leaders and guides.

STILL???

by Dr. Kristina “Tina” Campbell

At the end of a recent meeting, a male clergy stood to his full height, looked me square in the eye, and announced, “Tina, now I’m going to a meeting of pastors who do not believe in the ordination of women, and I consider them to be my brothers in Christ.” And then he turned on his heel and exited the room. It felt like a drive by shooting. Like most cowards, he made sure there were no witnesses and no opportunity for confrontation. I was triggered into full blown post traumatic stress, going back to countless similar episodes that occurred during my seminary days fifty years ago. I was stunned.

Later in the day, I shared the incident with a trusted colleague, and he, too, looked me straight in the eye and said, “That was no micro-aggression. That was an all out attack.” Then he paused and said, “I’m sorry.”

I was one of the “firsts”—women to be ordained, to be accepted in my CPE program, to serve in certain roles in ecclesiastical, administrative and chaplaincy positions. Being a “first” is exhausting, lonely, and sometimes challenging beyond measure, and yet we “firsts” hope some progress has been made as a result of our efforts. I have not lost hope or determination or a sense of call, yet I find myself the only member of my full-time staff belonging to a denomination that ordains women. Sometimes it feels as if no progress has been made. Sometimes it feels like we are fighting fifty year old battles.

I get it why Jesus went to the desert to be alone. I don’t think he wanted to give up. He just needed a moment to shed a few private tears, to absorb the concept of betrayal, to reassess, to regroup, to ready himself for crucifixion. I get it why Jesus needed to stare stunned into space, allowing his doubts, fears, anger, and disappointments to wash over him. He needed that sacred desert space to regroup, restore and return to his ministry as a whole human being. I love Jesus for going to the desert and unapologetically experiencing his full humanity. I love Jesus for never saying it would be easy or without personal pain. Lent affords us the opportunity to pause, to fully feel and to prepare to return to the challenges of our faith and calling. Breathe. Bow. Weep. Restore. Return. Amen.

–Tina was ordained in 1975 and retains a faith where all are fully embraced to pursue their authentic selves and callings. She has been in the desert for over forty years.