covenant & autonomy: the United Church of Christ, the local church, and me
What better way is there to speak of our UCC polity than through the theological framework of covenant and autonomy? After all, we are the “united and uniting” church that came together under the vision “that they all may be one” (John 17:21). Still, it could often be said of us that “covenant remains…problematic…and is frequently outdone by autonomy in tests of strength and inclination.”[1] Autonomy is a signature of the UCC in all of its settings. Theological diversity is fundamental to who we are, the protection of which manifests itself in our governing structure. With Christ alone as the head of the church, there is no centralized authority that imposes theological or social pronouncements. As is often heard around the UCC, each setting speaks to the others, not for them, which means that the power and authority for decision making ultimately resides in the individual members of individual congregations.
Autonomy has enabled the national setting, General Synod, to make bold stands on social issues—like gender equality and LGBTQ rights—as it has attempted to be the headlights rather than the taillights on issues of justice. This has led many to join the denomination over the years, especially those marginalized and rejected by faith communities elsewhere. However, this same autonomy has led some of those who feel slighted or dismissed by these progressive stands to withdraw their denominational membership. “Not surprisingly,” Mary Gast writes, “there are times when the varied voices of the UCC put a strain on the power of the first personal plural pronoun—‘we’—to adequately represent [all of] ‘us.’” Indeed, “when do we speak of the UCC as ‘we’?” And, “When does the ‘we’ become ‘they?’ ‘them, over there?’” Attention to the gap between “we” and “they” is crucial for thinking our polity through covenant.[2] Covenant is not merely that which balances autonomy; it is fundamental to our understanding of autonomy. In describing our polity, therefore, we must look again to our rich theological heritage.
At the twelfth General Synod in 1979, Rev. Walter Brueggemann spoke precisely of the relational nature of covenant and the implications of imagining our polity through it. Covenant, he said, is “a way of being committed to each other as God is committed to us, a way of being defined by, accountable to, and responsible for each other…pledged to solidarity across ideological lines and prepared to live in sustained engagement with one another in ways that impinge on and eventually transform all parties.”[3] Transformation doesn’t seek the assimilation of others, nor does it merely lead us to tolerate our differences. Rather, it insists that we are not simply a collection of separate individuals; we are inextricably bound together in a web of mutual becoming. None of us can realize our own humanity except by participating in its realization for others. As such, our communal identity is not fixed or static; it is inherently dynamic and ever evolving. Those who were “them” yesterday may join and become “us” today, but “they” do not assimilate and dissolve. Indeed, it is not only “they” who are changed in the uniting, but “we” all, and “in ways that impinge on and eventually transform all parties.” This covenantal articulation of our identity as relational and dynamic instead of autonomous and static has significant implications for our polity as well as navigating the challenges of change.
In the language of covenant, the various settings of the UCC do not merely coexist by remaining together so long as their interests overlap. Rather, they work cooperatively and with mutuality, serving one another in self-giving love, knowing that they can do more together than alone. For instance, an Associate Conference Minister or Conference Minister is likely to prioritize her time in a particular way if she sees herself as an autonomous setting that local churches can reach out to if need be. She is likely to spend her time in a very different way, however, if she envisions her setting as fundamentally about supporting and strengthening local churches, connecting with parishioners, and knowing their joys and concerns. On the other hand, covenant leads local churches to support the mission of the wider church through prayer, money, human resources, etc. Together they are able to offer Christ’s embrace and healing balm to many more than they could alone.
Furthermore, this vision of a covenantal identity can help local churches seeking greater diversity to recognize that this implies changing: in aesthetics and in worship, in forms of communication and dealing with conflict, in theology, and even internal structures. “Those who were ‘them’ yesterday are ‘us’ today, and ‘we’ are forever changed.” We are reformed in our understanding of community and ourselves; forever changed and forever open to more change. This takes place not haphazardly, but in response to that earliest call to relationship in covenant that changes everything: “I will be your God; and you will be my people” (Jer. 7.23).[4]v
This covenantal vision helps us lean into our perpetual fear of change. It doesn’t dismiss this fear offhand; neither does it create nostalgia for some yester-year, or a yearning for a “pure” past when things were more comfortable and less complicated. This can too often be the myth to which we revert, but it is to our own detriment. Rather, “we,” like the Trinity, have always been a unity complicated and enriched by diversity. As we struggle together through change (and our fear of it), covenant gives us a different storyline, a different paradigm by which we can make sense of ourselves—one that helps us remain forever open instead of one into which we shrink back and close ourselves off. This provides a radically different myth out of which to organize, vision, grow, and make meaning of “us” in the midst of conflict.
Covenant invites us to love one another and remain peaceably united by recognizing our similarities while still honoring differences. This is a crucial reminder in our divided and deeply hurting nation. It is challenging, but I know it is possible: I have experienced it in the incredible love and support my largely conservative home congregation has lavished on this unabashed liberal. I have also experienced it in my largely conservative and libertarian leaning family’s steadfast support of me in my wide-ranging journey. We embody deeply divergent theological and political orientations and yet remain steadfastly—even if imperfectly—committed to gathering together, loving one another, and growing a new generation. We generally do this not by playing nice and refusing to mix religion and politics—every family gathering does that! Rather, we do so by striving to honor one another even as we engage our differences (have I mentioned this is inevitably done imperfectly?). In this striving, we have been and continue to be open to repentance and reformation. My relationship with them across our differences has played a fundamental role in shaping my faith and journey to ministry. It is also a vision for the church.
[1] Mary Sue Gast, “Introduction” in That We May All [Finally] Be One (forthcoming), p. 1.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Ibid., 2.
[4] Ibid., 3.