Purple Shirts

The Disgruntled Lutherans in Minnesota were especially restive because the proposed Concordat between the ELCA and the Episcopalians included an affirmation of the historic episcopate. Whereas bishops are elected in both denominations, they serve essentially as administrators in the ELCA and for a fixed term, whereas the Episcopalians invoke the doctrine of apostolic succession. The terms for implementing the Concordat make the tax code read like a nursery rhyme, but the bottom line is that future ordinations would be considered valid only when administered by a bishop.

The Disgruntled Lutherans protested, rightly, that this provision undermined one of the foundations of Lutheran theology: the priesthood of believers. Already, they alleged, some of the ELCA bishops (who overwhelmingly supported the Concordat) had taken on airs, demanding deference and even wearing purple shirts. (Having grown up as an evangelical, the first time I saw a cleric wearing a purple shirt I thought it was simply poor sartorial taste.) The Disgruntled Lutherans claimed that, especially on this issue of apostolic succession but also in the overall Concordat, the Lutherans had capitulated entirely to the Episcopalians – and received little, or nothing, in return.

Indeed, in studying the document, I was inclined to agree. Some weeks later, when I had occasion to discuss the Concordat with J. Robert Wright, a professor at General Theological Seminary and one of the principal negotiators for the Episcopalians, I offered my impression that the Episcopalians had eaten the Lutherans’ lunch. Wright’s entire countenance glowed with a broad, Cheshire-like grin, but he declined to comment.

My final observation to the Disgruntled Lutherans was that unity with the Episcopalians was not only theologically suspect and culturally inept, it was tactically foolish. Why would the Lutherans want to climb aboard a sinking ship? If they were looking for buoyancy amid rough ecclesiastical waters, they should tether themselves to a steadier vessel than the Episcopal church.

What if They Gave a War?

One thing led to another after this gathering. A summary of my remarks apparently was posted on the Internet, several reporters called as the Lutherans neared a vote on whether to approve the Concordat, and The New York Times asked me to do an op-ed piece on the topic of ecumenism. Now, finally, I thought, we were approaching a full-fledged discussion of the issue. Once again, I was wrong, and I began to wonder if the ecumenists had succeeded precisely because of the widespread indifference toward the matter. Perhaps ecumenism had progressed (or regressed) as far as it did because no one (other than denominational bureaucrats) cared – and those who did care had long ago deserted the ranks of mainline Protestantism because of its theological aridity. The result was a variant on the old antiwar slogan, "What if they gave a war and nobody came?" In this case: "Suppose we succeed in eradicating our theological differences – and in the process we come up with a common set of principles so innocuous that no one is around to appreciate our diplomatic triumph?"

After the op-ed piece appeared late in August last year, I received an e-mail from an old friend from college days who now works for the ELCA offices in Chicago. He upbraided me for criticizing ecumenism and characterized me as a petulant, kneejerk fundamentalist. Nothing could be farther from the truth, I assured him. I cared deeply about the future of mainline Protestantism, but I was convinced it was careening down a dead end. I even ventured that, rather than impugn my character, a more fruitful course might be to set up a meeting with church leaders so we could discuss the matter. My friend agreed to see what he could do and get back to me. So far, I’ve heard nothing.

Another friend, whom I had met when the two of us served on a diocesan committee a couple of years ago, arranged a debate on ecumenism during the adult forum hour at a local parish. My sparring partner was a seminary professor (who shall remain nameless). He steadfastly refused to engage the substance of my objections to ecumenism, however. His debating strategy seemed to consist of associating me with the Disgruntled Lutherans in Minnesota, and when I suggested that Jesus’ words in John 17 should be read eschatologically – that Christians will not all be one in this world any more than the meek will inherit the earth – he responded with a breathtaking exegetical non sequitur: If I believed that, he said, then I must also interpret eschatologically Jesus’ injunctions to feed the hungry and clothe the naked.

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And so it goes. I’ve come reluctantly to the conclusion that the very people so intent on "dialoguing" with one another have no interest in engaging their critics – even friendly critics, who mean to be constructive. Not that anyone has asked, but I believe that individual Protestant denominations should undertake a massive effort to educate themselves about their own traditions. Methodist laity should be introduced to John Wesley, as well as to Richard Allen, Phoebe Palmer, and Frances Willard. Presbyterians should learn something about the Westminster Standards and the significance of the Auburn Affirmation. Episcopalians should be able to recognize Thomas Cranmer and George Whitefield as well as Dennis Bennett and Barbara Harris. How many Congregationalists know that they are direct, lineal descendants of the Puritans?

The past is by no means an infallible guide to the future, but it provides a lodestar for navigating the shoals of pluralism. Americans are yearning for theological definition, even denominational identity, not ecumenism.

In the meantime, however, the ecumenical movement continues apace and mainline Protestantism continues to founder. No one has persuaded me that these two phenomena are unrelated – but then again, nobody’s talking.