A Return to Decency
One of the most surprising things I quickly learned about New Englanders is how similar they are to Texans. Now, this doesn’t apply to everything, of course. After all, I went from having Ted Cruz as my senator to Elizabeth Warren. But if you strip away the partisanship, you can begin to observe a similarity in Texans and New Englanders both: they strongly value their independence. Up here it’s a libertarian streak that harkens back to pilgrims and patriots and Don’t Tread on Me flags. Down there it’s the Alamo and the Texas flag and the belief that the Texas constitution allows for their secession at any point they grow tired of the US.
Different sides of the same coin, it seems to me.
Perhaps it’s no surprise then, that Baptists found fertile ground in New England, and in Rhode Island, specifically. To be Baptist means that we believe in freedom. In fact, the main distinctives of the Baptist tradition, also called the “four fragile freedoms,” are the freedoms of religion, church, the Bible, and the soul. What better place to take root than in a land and with a people who value their independence and freedom?
Baptists were borne out of the English Separatist movement in the early 1600s, something lost on most of us in history but not in practice. After all, if Baptists are good at anything, consistent in anything, it’s their food, their fellowship, and their propensity to disagree.
It could be argued that dissent is at the core of our tradition.
Which is why we practice a lower case “c” congregational polity. It’s more democratic than having a bishop or pope or presbytery. We value the importance of hearing and honoring the voices on the margins, the voices of the minority opinions. We believe in cultivating the space to debate and disagree, all under the broader umbrella and safety of our shared unity in mission and in Christ.
But as is so often the case, we are apt to repeat our origin stories more times than not. And if Baptists were borne out of disagreement and separation, then that is in our denominational DNA; we are predisposed to repeating our origin story of separating over our disagreements. Just look at how many Baptist denominations are out there.
Which means that even as we hold closely the value of dissent within our polity, we must equally value decency in its practice. Agreeing to disagree; disagreeing agreeably.
I wonder sometimes if that isn’t partly what is happening in our country as a whole. Not just in religious identities, but in politics and culture, too. We were founded out of a separation from England, valuing our independence and freedom, dissenting to injustice and oppression.
And along the way in our history, we have these moments of hyper-charged partisanship and rancor and mistrust. The value of dissent becomes weaponized disagreement, our faith in freedom converts to factionalism, and our politics revert to tribalism.
We seem intent on repeating our origin story of separation.
As I have said in my sermons over the past few weeks, we’ve quit listening; we’ve quit loving; we’ve quit living.
In our short-sightedness, we have forgotten how, or more disturbingly forgotten how to care, to disagree agreeably.
We need to return to decency.
And this is where Baptists can lead the way forward.
Because we’re not talking about decency in puritanical ways, the prohibition of drinking and dancing and wearing jeans to church. Not a decency that avoids conflict or standing up to injustice.
Rather we need to return to decency in our ethics;
that is, what we believe and how we believe it are
decent and good,
kind and compassionate,
urgent and honest,
consistent and justice-minded.
Our actions must match our beliefs, and as Baptists who value dissent, this means we actually listen to those who are disagreeing with us.
As Americans who believe in liberty and justice for all, it means we return to listening to those of us who don’t yet experience liberty and justice in the ways that so many others of us do. Toss barrels of tea into the water if that’s what it takes.
Decency is a commitment to siding with what is right over being right.
Decency means we listen, and apologize, and even change our minds, sometimes.
Instead of trying to win at any cost, decency means trying to love no matter the cost.
Decency isn’t self-indulgence or self-centeredness; it’s voicing our convictions while keeping others at the forefronts of our minds and hearts.
Decency doesn’t obligate us to passivity or conformity, but it does compel us to value one another’s dignity.
To paraphrase my friend Robin Bartlett recently,
We are not created to be like-minded; we are called to be like-hearted.
Baptists’ value of dissent offers us the beauty of diverse thoughts and practices — of becoming even fuller human beings, of more clearly glimpsing God’s image in one another — if only we’ll listen.
But when we separate decency from our dissent, we position hubris over human beings.
Put another way, decency in dissent demands we use our independence to promote the welfare of everyone rather than perpetuating our own well-being. Because independence isn’t individualism; it’s maturing beyond our egos to ensure everyone has a seat at the table.
Put yet another way, our faith demands that we abide. It’s language that is primary to both our readings this morning. Abiding in God, abiding in Christ, like branches of a vine. We can cut off the branches that are dead to us, toss them in a pile to be burned. Or we can embody the challenge to abide, to love one another, belong to one another. This is what it means to abide in Christ.
And that’s what I’ve witnessed here, at First Baptist. It’s what gives me hope not just for our church but for our divided and divisive nation. When this church was confronted with the challenges of declining numbers, declining finances, declining involvement in church life, you rose to the occasion. It wasn’t perfect, but you tried your darnedest to listen to one another around tables, to listen to those who dissented with proposals to change our leadership structure, to listen to the Spirit who still speaks in the 21st century.
And several years later, you are now seeing the fruit of what it means to abide in Christ’s Spirit, to abide in one another, to listen and belong to each and every one of us — those who agree, and those who dissent.
Uniformity isn’t the marker of our unity. Unanimity isn’t the marker of our vitality.
Our humility and kindness are.
Our shared vision of justice and liberation are.
Our joy and hope of a future unfolding here and now are the very markers of the Way of Christ, of a people practicing resurrection.
Like ivy growing on the walls of a building, some branches might want to go one direction, while others go yet another direction. Some of us will want to be a part of small groups or Bible studies, while others will want to march and rally, and still others will want to speak up boldly and prophetically; some will want to sing and paint and preach and knit and serve, but we all do so together, connected.
We abide in the Christ who calls us, and we practice the difficult love of belonging to one another, decently, with open minds and open hearts.
Amen.
Sermon preached at FBC Worcester, April 29, 2018.
John 15:1–8; 1 John 4:7–21