The pastor emeritus of the church I serve was in Montgomery, Ala., in March 1965 to hear the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s speech at the end of his historic march from Selma. "We wanted to be there, and be part of the movement," Henry Baumann reflects. "Later, Fairfax church members took food to those attending the Poor People's March on Washington. There was a mood of support."

Growing up in the Presbyterian Church in the 1960s, I was shaped by stories like this. To the pastors and elders who were active in the church at that time, supporting King and other civil rights leaders seemed like no more than a faithful response to the call of the biblical prophets to work for social justice and to reshape the world.

But in Presbyterian circles today, the atmosphere feels very different. Right now, for instance, an initiative to allow the ordination of gays and lesbians as elders, deacons and ministers appears about to be crushed. Although the initiative echoes the civil rights movement in its attempt to empower a minority group, most church members aren't buying it. Of the 88 presbyteries that voted by Friday, 62 have opposed the initiative.

Yes, it's true that the local National Capital Presbytery voted for the initiative Jan. 22, but since it is just one of 173 presbyteries across the country, its single vote is not likely to help turn the national tide.

Why have the prophetic voices for social change been replaced by more "priestly" voices advocating the preservation of traditional practices and beliefs? How has a religion that reveres someone as countercultural as Jesus becomeso conservative?

Part of the answer is that while conservatives have always been present in congregations, they have not always attracted as much attention as liberal activists. They have long been drawn to the order of traditional liturgy and church life, the moral clarity of Scripture and the comfort of certain hymns and prayers. "Conservatives are, by nature, supporters of the societal institutions and the standards of society," Fairfax church member Jim Speer points out. "The church institution is, historically, the societal moral anchor."

But today, the weight of the priestly traditional side of the church aisle is no longer balanced by a prophetic progressive side. Most visible Christian social action is coming from the conservatives, involving issues such as abortion and school prayer -- witness the tens of thousands who gathered here Jan. 22 for a protest to mark the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. It could even be argued, that in our liberal secular society, to be truly countercultural means to be conservative.

Liberals seem to be opting out of congregational life. While they may honor Jesus personally, they are not attracted to the community that professes to follow him. On college campuses, evangelical groups such as Campus Crusade for Christ are booming -- participation rose from 21,000 to 40,000 between 1995 and 2000 -- while many liberal Protestant campus ministries are struggling.

Exceptions to this trend are the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) and Unitarian Universalists. John Surr, clerk of the Langley Hill Friends Meeting, reports that even before Sept. 11 members had been speaking up, "collectively and individually, on a number of issues of social change." Quakers in the D.C. area are among the few to oppose the use of U.S. military force against terrorists, and they struggle, says Surr, to let their voice of conscience "be heard and acted upon."

Unitarian Universalists are a small but growing denomination, now numbering some 220,000. All faiths, including humanists, Wiccans, theists, mystics and Buddhists, are welcome. (Christians can also be members, but only 9 percent of UUs identify themselves as such.) They have no creed, only a set of principles including a belief in "the inherent worth and dignity of every person," and membership does not require even rudimentary belief in God.

Though few, Unitarian Universalists have a history of making a mark through social action. Unitarians were on the front lines of the abolitionist movement, and members such as Susan B. Anthony fought hard for women's rights. Universalist Clara Barton founded the Red Cross, and Unitarian Henry David Thoreau's essay "Civil Disobedience" inspired both King and Mahatma Gandhi. While Christian churches continue to debate the status of homosexuals, UUs have been ordaining people without regard to sexual orientation since the early '70s.

Such a radically inclusive denomination is clearly attractive for some of the disaffected -- almost 90 percent of UU members have come from other religions. But its membership is still minuscule compared with our country's 62 million Roman Catholics and 15 million Southern Baptists, and its beliefs are fundamentally incompatible with mainstream Christianity. Still, I wish that my denomination had held onto some of those UU liberals. Without them, we're not hearing persuasive calls for social justice and reform from a distinctly religious perspective.

Don't misunderstand. I'm not an "old lefty" lamenting the loss of personal political power. When church members such as Jim Speer tell me that "the church's liberal voices all too often support social changes that are the whim of the day," I know what they're talking about. If anything, I'm a moderate Christian who is liberal on some issues (death penalty) and conservative on others (the sanctity of marriage vows), and I have come to appreciate the historical balance between progressive and traditional forces.

I don't think I'm alone in believing that this creative tension is important. Presbyterian elder Mike Watson has pondered whether he can hold a liberal view in one area and still be a conservative. "I think so," he concludes. "On some church and life issues it's good to have both sides engaged." My divinity school classmate Leah Schafer, associate pastor of St. Mark's Lutheran Church in Springfield, adds, "I think that congregations where widespread belief systems coexist -- where active, mutual listening and learning are taking place -- are the most vital and the most important congregations."

Theologically, I associate these opposing Christian camps with two dominant personalities from Scripture: Abraham and Moses. Consciously or not, conservatives emulate Abraham, who made a covenant with God, an agreement defined by righteous living. Followers of Abraham tend to focus on the obligations of religious life, and they appreciate moral clarity. Pat Robertson is a good example.

Liberals, on the other hand, march behind Moses, who led his people out of captivity in Egypt. Disciples of Moses see religion as a liberation movement and tend to stress God's love for the oppressed of the earth. Think Jesse Jackson.

Obligation versus liberation, clarity versus charity -- these are the theological battle lines. Both sides voice important themes in our religious tradition. But when one group surrenders, or drops out of the debate, the weight of mainstream opinion quickly shifts to the opposite side.

One reason the religious left is so weak today is that it hasn't had a charismatic leader since King. "In the '60s, white liberals in mainline Protestant churches were able to marshal a groundswell of activism to march in Selma with Dr. King," says Phil Beauchene, a member of my church. Forty years on, we still wrestle with racism, but "white liberals in today's churches who are concerned about racism have a hard sell getting their fellow parishioners excited about the methods and messages of Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton," Beauchene asserts.

He's right.No one on today's scene can match King's powerful preaching or his ingenious blending of Gandhi's strategy of nonviolent resistance and Jesus's message of love for one's enemies. And so the Christian majority turns its attention to other religious leaders, many of whom are simply repackaging traditional truths.

Is there a problem with this? Clearly, there is a place for time-honored certainties in our rapidly changing, high-tech world. But the obligations of religious life are only half the message. The message of liberation is equally urgent. After all, if traditional Southern preachers had won the war of words in the early 19th century, we'd still have theological justification for slavery. If Christians had listened to white moderate pastors instead of black activist pastors in the '60s, they wouldn't have joined the civil rights movement. And if Protestant conservatives had dominated debate over the role of women in the church, there would be no female pastors in mainline congregations -- some of the best preachers in the pulpit today.

One of these pastors, Susan Andrews at Bradley Hills Presbyterian Church in Bethesda, has defined this theological tension as a balancing act between the truth of God and the grace of God. In a sermon to our presbytery, she reminded us that Jesus handled this tension in surprising ways, sometimes breaking with traditional truths to lead people into God's grace. "Jesus healed on the Sabbath, he touched menstruating women, he put the needs of children before the needs of adults, he preferred the company of sinners over saints," she pointed out. "But we, in a changing, chaotic world, are often too scared to follow him."

The message of liberation is always a tough sell, because it requires a departure from tradition and a journey to a new place. That's hard for many Christians, especially those at the conservative, truth-of-God end of the spectrum, who don't necessarily want to follow Moses into the wilderness. But sometimes that's exactly where church and society need to go.

© 2002 The Washington Post Company

Henry Brinton is pastor of Fairfax Presbyterian Church.

Author's e-mail: hgbrinton@aol.com

Link to Henry Brinton's Washington Post Articles Index Page

FPC Home | Welcome | Worship | Christian Ed | Preschool |Music | Mission
Fellowship | Inside FPC | Spiritual Spa | Youth | Committees |Site Map

Fairfax Presbyterian Church - Fairfax, Virginia, 22030-6985
(703) 273-5300 - FAX (703) 591-4246
fpc@fairfaxpresby.com
Contact Web Team with comments and updates.