A version of this testimony was first printed in the Lamoni Chronicle, December 8, 2011 edition, in the section”Everyday Blessings.”
satellite view of southern Lake Michigan (taken from nasa.gov)
In 2007, my family and I left home for Thanksgiving. We were living in Chicago. We were traveling to Michigan to have the holiday with my family. Margo, my wife, was a Chicago public school teacher and having a stressful year. She wasn’t feeling well that day, but we hoped that some rest would be good and help her feel better. The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Katy and Kenzlee (my daughters) piled in the car with Margo and I, and we left for a three-hour drive along Lake Michigan’s coast to grandma’s in Grand Rapids.
We arrived safely at my mother’s home. The day of Thanksgiving, Margo still wasn’t feeling well. She slept through most of Thanksgiving. Friday evening, her headache and stomach pain worsened. On the way to the bathroom that evening, she collapsed to the floor. A friend and I immediately took Margo to the closest emergency room.
Within an hour, our family’s life changed. We learned that Margo had a dangerous and rare blood disorder. She was admitted to the hospital. I didn’t know it, but I began thirty of the most grueling days of my life that day away from home and in an out-of-state hospital.
Unfortunately, Margo didn’t respond to standard treatment for her disease and she ended up being unconscious for over two weeks. During those weeks, I lived on a 36-hour cycle of staying up with her at the hospital for twenty-four hours and going to my mother’s to sleep for twelve. The entire time, no one knew the outcome of our hospital stay. I was learning through chatting with survivors of her rare disease on the internet that the disease was unpredictable. Both survivors and Margo’s specialists assured me things would be OK, but day after day her blood work did not improve. The feeling of the doctors and nurses went from serious to somber.
With two daughters and my wife’s prognosis unsure, I turned more and more to others for support and prayer. Physically and emotionally, I felt indescribable stress. I was without any control, helpless to do anything except watch the doctors hook her up to machines and wait for her blood work each day. I talked to Margo and prayed with her, even though she was unresponsive. I tried to calm her to keep her from seizures, which seemed to help. I cried with her and prayed for her.
Before she went to ICU for the second time, one morning at 5:00am, I turned my face to Michigan’s gray sky and began to pray. I felt as if I was going to break. I turned to God in prayer desperate for direction and help. During my prayer, something happened that I can only describe as a vision. It forever changed the way I think about prayer and Christ’s church.
Eyes closed and deep in prayer, I wearily watch the sky open to behold a cathedral. The inside of the cathedral was tall and immense. I stood in the cathedral and saw the faces of people, some I knew and some I didn’t know, pass through the sanctuary’s open space. I saw each one in their various settings. I saw a woman praying for our family over her morning coffee. I saw a man offering prayer as he was driving to work. I saw a woman in a congregation standing in prayer, and a parent pushing a stroller silently holding a loved one before God in her thoughts.
The scenes of people praying and their faces continued to pass through the sanctuary several at once. Somehow, I knew these images passing through the sanctuary were coming from all over the world. It filled the space with the feeling of worship. Somehow, I also knew that God was being glorified in each prayer, and what I was witnessing was God’s church in its invisible spiritual reality.
Later, I learned that prayer requests for Margo had spread through our church to Asia and Australia. Friends and members were praying from far reaches of the globe. One of our Jewish neighbors in Chicago also had her synagogue praying for our family down the street from our home. Some of our non-religious neighbors were praying for us from the living rooms.
In that moment, I knew God was near me and that God was hearing not only my prayers, but the prayers of others. The vision did not give me answers to my questions about the outcome of Margo’s hospital stay. My terrible fear of the unknown and the incredible stress of our situation did not come to an end. But, at some level, I received an indescribable peace knowing that God was present with me in my darkness and unknowing. Somehow, I knew I was in God’s hands, buoyed up by the prayers of others.
I learned in the moments of that vision that God’s church exists far beyond our perception. I learned that the church is spiritually gathered whenever and wherever we come to God and pray.
The persons and faces continued to pass through the sanctuary of that cathedral. The earnest prayers of all who passed through its space made it holy. As the vision closed and my prayer came to an end, I had the feeling of just being in worship.
Margo, my girls, and I went home near the end of December. Margo was released to outpatient services in Chicago. We fought the disease at home for another few months. Today, Margo is living with her blood disorder and is doing well. She experienced another episode in May of this year. This time, she was not unconscious. We came through it, again, together after a few months.
Life is uncertain, yet I remain changed by the vision I received that day in prayer in the hospital. I know God hears our prayers and the prayers of others. I know prayers are answered, not by receiving whatever we ask for, but by sustaining in God’s presence and promise. I also know Christ’s church is gathered whenever and wherever, across the world, people turn to God and pray. The spiritual reality of God’s church goes far beyond its physical presence and our worship goes beyond ourselves and the assurances of our five senses. There is a spiritual reality in which God draws near to us whenever we draw near to God, who gives life-sustaining peace.
We learn more about our faith, our history, who we are, what we practice and what we confess, by interacting with others different than ourselves. This is true across ecumenical differences and interfaith groups. It’s equally true with the diverse perspectives in any church community. Intentional interaction and a disposition for learning actually strengthens self-hood, faith and conviction. Moreover, the 
If we look deep into the fabric of our world, we could go back to the Enlightenment for an answer. That was the period centuries ago in which the measure of truth in our Western world became fundamentally different. The Enlightenment was a turning point in the scientific revolution. It marked a seismic shift in the authority of religious truth. Today’s politics of truth are shaped by this shift, especially the politics between religion and science. The Enlightenment opened the door to the idea that each mind, equipped with the power of observation and reason, could question and apprehend the truth and reality. Truth, in this way, became distinct from its foundation in the church, revelation, theologians, and traditional authorities. The politics of truth between religion and science shape how religion and religious people are perceived today. It shapes our stereotypes about religious fanatics and their fanaticism. But, this doesn’t provide the whole answer.
This is the reach of individualism. After the Babyboom, personal testimonies, if they are more than personal stories, are subject to politics, i.e. the politics of religion and individual authority. Individualism assumes religious testimonies and convictions belong to personal experience. The truth of our faith and testimonies raise the question of “who’s truth?” The politics of individualism are inherently defensive. Religious passion and conviction elicit this cultural clash between religious authority and personal experience or opinion. To guard ourselves against outside authority – whether other individuals, society, religion, traditions, institutions, or government – individualism tells us that personal experience and perspective shape reality. The politics of individualism puts tension between us and others because others are external authorities. They are part of the world outside. Such individualism and its defensive politics muck up almost all possibility for any open exchange or trusting environment for people to talk about their life-changing experiences, faith, love of church, even God. Being positive is good; too much religion is bad.
The bad news involved circumstances and realities that are completely out of our control. Hearing the news made us all of the sudden feel very vulnerable, victims of an impersonal world and other people’s bad decisions. I wish I could share more details, but they are both complicated and personal. Suffice it to say, what’s important here is that our very sense of security and self-determination was completely undermined. It created a feeling of insecurity and dread that I feel still. The outcome is unsure and the feeling lingers.
Shopping at the store, I overheard another young woman near crying to a store associate. She was a young mother. All I heard of the conversation was this as I passed by filling our cart: ”…and the churches kept saying that they would only help out their own members. I have three kids. What am I supposed to do?…” I immediately felt convicted by her words. I am a full-time minister. I was helping friends that were members of my church. Even though they had not attended for a while, the situation they were in was not – and is never – the time to talk about how often they had been attending. I had a relationship with them. I care for them. It had been years since we saw each other, but we shared a heartfelt connection. But, what about this women at the store? I thought about the verse in Luke:
I get the arguments. I’ve been a church administrator. Church’s could not help anyone if they practiced no discretion in offering financial help. But, can we justify restricting generosity to our own membership? What do church’s say about Christ, Christ’s message, and God’s mission when they only support their own? I think this is the deepest betrayal of the gospel, and I think Luke’s gospel supports that way of thinking.
In the end, for churches, the question of helping others in material ways comes down to a simple matter of Christian identity and mission. What are churches, really? Why do Christians comes together in “churches”? For themselves? What is their gospel and who is the good news of the gospel really for? Matthew’s depiction of Jesus’ judgment of the nations in chapter 25 should not be read as a scriptural scare-tactic for church folk, as much as a humble moment of clarity. When churches reach out to those in need, the good news of the gospel come to both.
Identifying the decisive identity issues in the North American Community of Christ today is, itself, a difficult task. But, I think its essential if the North American church is going to understand and fully embrace the transformation of the RLDS to global Community of Christ identity. By limiting the scope of our perspective to a North American perspective, it helps provide some focus on the problems we face finding unity (let alone consensus) around theological and ethical issues that involve basic identity questions. Some of the identity issues we struggle with emerge directly from within our North American post-RLDS context.
The second thing that becomes apparent is that RLDSism is defined by its inability to transcend its particular position within Mormon history. I’m convinced that the reason the RLDS church is undergoing its transformation toward a new identity as Community of Christ is because RLDSism’s position between Utah Mormonism, on one hand, and American Protestantism, on the other, has reached its limits. The liberalism that clearly sets the RLDS church apart from its Mormon cousins pushes RLDSism away from its historical sectarianism. For the RLDS, this liberalism is expressed and felt in the RLDS emphasis on individual spirituality and internal dissent from spiritual authority, which makes the RLDS more Protestant than Mormon. This is what has made critical scholarship (theological and historical), theological evolution, critique of authoritarian leadership, and critique of the authority of tradition possible. Those who who reject this liberalism adhere to RLDSism’s sectarian strands, which continues to unfold in conservative RLDSism. In the Community of Christ, however, the historical tendency toward sectarian belief and identity (i.e. the righteous remnant) is overcome by the universalizing logic embedded deep within liberal Christianity, as well as in biblical Christianity through Paul. The theological significance of this inclusive and universal vision for Christ and Christ’s Kingdom has moved late RLDSism, its sense of community, and mission toward a more universal and inclusive center of identity. Against the negativity of a RLDS sectarian identity structure, the Community of Christ finds its mission, message, and future in the person and work of Jesus Christ. In this way, the church is becoming “more Protestant,” but only because the roots of the Restoration movement are in the universalizing vision of biblical theology and American Christianity, which shares in the universal spirit of modern Protestantism. In this sense, the Community of Christ is not a break with RLDSism, only RLDS sectarianism and its negatively-structured identity. It is, in fact, historically the fulfillment (cf. D&C 164:9a) of its essentially Christian Restoration vision and heritage in American Christianity.
The problem that haunts the Community of Christ internally, however, is the ghost of its negative identity. Historically, the negative relationship of RLDSism to both Mormonism and American Protestantism is what structured RLDS sectarianism with a cherished sense of community and essentially negative identity. The Community of Christ’s sense of community cannot be separated from its lived historical experience as a marginalized movement negatively positioned in obscurity between Mormonism and American Protestant Christianity. The challenge, therefore, is to shape the negative aspect of this marginalized experience of community in a positive identity position. I believe, consciously or not, this process has already been taking place in the church for a few decades. As we face the future, however, I want to suggest a few places where, I hope, the positivity of RLDS identity can emerge with both historical and theological integrity.
I’ve had similar struggles when I am in local congregations. On the one hand, I’m lucky. I enjoy many different kinds of worship. I enjoyed mass for four years in Catholic school and fell in love with the tradition. I spent years going to church with my Dutch grandparents at a traditional Reformed service. I spent four years attending high Methodist liturgy in seminary, another 6 years at lively congregationalist services at another. I’m comfortable around people whoopin’ or being slain in the Spirit.
From Chicago across Wisconsin to Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming and Idaho. We traveled through 10 states in all. We saw the Badlands, Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Memorial, Yellowstone Park, and the Grand Tetons. There was incredible beauty, much of which is documented on Facebook. But among the memories I made is an epiphany driving through the West. At some point in South Dakota, something I knew in fact became profoundly real to me. It changed how I view myself and America in light of driving through American history.
Race is so much more than skin color and racism is not mere personal prejudice. Americans did not discover race in the 1960′s and swiftly eradicate racism by the civil rights movement. Far from it. Race is a logic-structure that shapes America and all periods of American history. We still live in shadow of race today. Many Americans believe race is simply a matter of politics, but it is much more. Race is historically deeply influenced by 19th century science.
I, now, live on the southside of Chicago. Here, I am the racial minority. Chicago is a racially segregated city. While there is a large population of African Americans in Chicago, Chicago’s southside (Sox country!) is historically black. More African-Americans live in Atlanta than Chicago (as I recall from a recent NPR program). Nevertheless, Chicago is still, arguably, the black capital of America by many measures. It is the home of Louis Farrakhan, the Nation of Islam, Jet magazine and Ebony. The neighborhood I live in on the southside is a pocket of wild diversity because the University of Chicago and five mainline seminaries attract a wide array of people. Still, as a southsider, almost all the professionals I see are African American: my dentist, doctors, pharmacist, insurance man, and veterinarian. I am not naive enough to believe I know what it means to be a racial minority. In fact, I am a racial minority here because it is my choice to live here. I live, shop, and worship on the southside of Chicago. But, I am also reminded how much my race is a decisive factor of me being here. It shapes my choice to live here or not.
mighty economy (“In God We Trust”) is shaping up a storm of forces that will both shake us and unravel some of the fabric of our society and its mode of relationships. An economy that survives on consumption, self-regard, and debt is simply not a mode of community, sacred or otherwise. It is a mode of relating in which the very meaning of human being is redefined. The edifying and enriching part of human relationships becomes what enriches and feeds ourselves, while the commitment and obligations that create and sustain these relationships are relegated to a secondary position. Our world promotes “have now, earn and pay later” relationships, whether we are looking for a home, a hassle-free meal at the end of a harried day, or the long-standing love of a significant other. I can only hope a uniquely Christian and profoundly human faith and community can respond with knowledge of a different kind of relationship – ones that flow in grace, peace, and generosity, as well as grounded in a commitment to what ultimately creates, redeems, and sustains human relationships. I’m tired of relationships based on fear and promises that are increasingly empty. I’m looking for a community that begins with people who hit the bottom of their addiction and finally realize that real life, now and eternal, begins somewhere on the other side, at the edge, of “me.”
