Original posting: September 12, 2007
No one gets through life without encountering some disagreement here and there. For a while it can be fun to disagree with people, but eventually we get tired of it. Hoping to close the issue, we may say: "Let's just agree to disagree."
Have you ever stopped to consider what is presupposed in this oft-heard remark? Something practical, it seems to me. The person who makes this remark does not wish to debate further, but neither does he wish to break off contact and cooperation with the person with whom he has been arguing. And so he suggests: Having opposed views on this topic should not keep us from working together in the future. Let's just let it lie for now.
There's a certain nobility of spirit in being magnanimous about disagreement. I had this virtue drilled into me when I was a child attending public schools. I grew up in Canada's province of Manitoba, and our prime minister was a man from the next province over -- Saskatchewan. His name was John G. Diefenbaker (1895-1979), and he was a "Progressive Conservative." The Conservative Party in power today does not include "progressive" in its name. Times have changed; by and large, people aren't as magnanimous as they used to be. The Conservatives we run into nowadays are not as enthusiastic about civil liberties as Diefenbaker was: today they are too quick, in my judgment, to lock people up without specific charges and without letting them see the evidence. But at least Canada does not have a Guantanamo Bay facility for people we are really sick of, the kind of prisoners of whom we say, "Let's just throw away the key!"
Diefenbaker, who served as Prime Minister from 1957 to 1963, seems a somewhat quaint figure as we look back at him today. Remember that in his time there was no such thing as political correctness, and so you could say what you liked. One of the statements I remember him for was: "I disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." It wasn't original with him: it stems from Voltaire (1694-1778), except that Voltaire didn't pen these exact words either. Scholars maintain that the quote is actually someone else's formulation of an attitude articulated by Voltaire. Nevertheless, it's a high-sounding sentiment. But is it practical?
Frictophobes may shudder. Wanting to avoid conflict at all costs since they are made uneasy by the unpleasantness that generally accompanies conflict, they may feel more of an impulse to ship people to Guantanamo Bay than to strike the Diefenbaker-like pose of the civil libertarian.
Harry Truman (1884-1972) was like John Diefenbaker in certain respects: in their earlier years, not much was expected from either one. Yet both became heads of government in their respective countries. But Truman had vastly more power than Diefenbaker, for he was the President of the United States. All that power brought with it certain problems. A man with so much power can cause a panic just by raising his voice. Theodore Roosevelt (1858-1919), an earlier U.S. president, therefore advised: Speak softly, and carry a big stick. It wasn't easy being Harry Truman in the White House.
He had a daughter to whom he was deeply devoted. His daughter, named Margaret, was a singer. She once gave a concert or recital to which Paul Hume, music critic for the Washington Post, responded with a very critical review. Harry Truman's instincts as a father then won out over his instincts as president: he made it know that he would like to give Mr. Hume a punch in the nose!
He never did it, but he made his point. He was very put out with the review. Some folks thought he should pay less attention to music critics and more to hostile dictators. Why not give Joe Stalin (1879-1953) a punch in the nose? It was in Truman's time that Winston Churchill (1874-1965) made his famous pronouncement about an "iron curtain" dividing much of the world into opposing camps, especially Europe. The Soviet Union, Truman's ally when he first came into office in 1945, had become America's Enemy Number One.
Moreover, Truman could have delivered quite a punch in the nose to Stalin if he chose to, for Truman had atomic weapons and Stalin did not. Bertrand Russell (1872-1970), a philosopher with sometimes daffy opinions, at one point advocated a first-use nuclear strike against the Soviet Union. (And remember that Truman did use nuclear weapons in 1945 to bring the war against Japan to a conclusion.) But Truman wisely refrained. And in time Stalin acquired nuclear weapons and thereby became capable of delivering quite a punch in the nose himself.
From the Truman story, it is clear that family ties run deep -- for some people, if not for all. Truman could certainly take the heat, and in the 1948 presidential election all sorts of scorn was heaped upon him by the press (he won anyway). But when they lit into his daughter, he almost lost it.
I think I might have reacted the same way as President Truman. Herewith a small illustration drawn from my own life circumstances to indicate how I might react if provoked. I lost my father, Folkert Plantinga (1916-1975), far too early in life, when I was 28. I still miss him and would love to be able to talk with him. He was no saint, and he had his foibles, to be sure, but he was a good man. I'm proud to be his son.
What I'm proud of especially is what he did during World War II, when he was a young married man living in the Nazi-occupied Netherlands. Like many of his countrymen, he engaged in illegal underground resistance. In our little village of Ee (Friesland), my father worked closely in the resistance with Dr. Jarel Ruinen, who was the family physician for our village. They were good friends. It was highly dangerous work: my father repeatedly urged Dr. Ruinen to go into hiding, but the dear man refused because he had his patients to think of. Eventually Dr. Ruinen was picked up by the Nazis and interrogated. He had beans to spill, but he kept his secrets to himself: the Nazis never came looking for my father. Eventually they took Dr. Ruinen to the provincial capital of Leeuwarden, and then they moved him again to Dokkum, closer to Ee, where, on January 22, 1945, he was shot. Today he is remembered with deep respect as one of the martyrs of the resistance movement.
Imagine, now, that some revisionist historian were to start poking around in that bit of history and conclude that Dr. Ruinen's partner, Folkert Plantinga, my revered father, was the key to this whole story. Imagine how I would feel if I were told by this revisionist that my father was no resistance hero but a Nazi stooge and that he had betrayed Dr. Ruinen. That revisionist historian would be in the same danger as the music critic in the President Truman story: he would be risking a punch in the nose. I would be very emotional and upset.
If we feel strongly about our loved ones being denounced as betrayers lacking in moral integrity, how do we feel if such charges are hurled at ourselves? To ask the question is to answer it. Therefore accusations of corruption or of moral turpitude -- of whatever sort -- are tricky to process and have great potential to lead to hard feelings and estrangement between people who were once friends and colleagues. The accused is reduced to looking around suspiciously to see who still "believes" in him. The frictophobes among us don't like to talk about these things, but as an opponent of frictophobia I feel I must lay this subject on the table. I don't know all the answers, but at least I have some grasp of the questions.
A story that much better illustrates the dangers of frictophobia and of rash action when it comes to bringing forward moral accusations is the case of Klaas Schilder (1890-1952) and the 1944 struggle. Perhaps you're familiar with it. Some may say: "Wasn't Schilder the guy who split the church?" My father used to say: "Schilder was a good man -- he stood up to the Nazis." A brief recital of the facts is in order.
Schilder was a minister in the Reformed Churches in the Netherlands and a professor at the denominational seminary in Kampen. He was a man with a following, and he liked to polemicize. He also had theological enemies. In 1936, it was decided at the church's synod that the theological disagreements being aired in the church papers needed an official church investigation. Four years later the Nazis marched into the Netherlands, and some people (Schilder among them) thought the investigation should be put on hold until such time as the Dutch were free again, but it was decided to proceed. Schilder, in the meantime, had gotten into trouble with the Nazis for his open resistance to their plans (thus he was not an underground man). Before long he was imprisoned. After some time he was released: he spent much of the rest of the war in hiding, with little opportunity to take part in church business.
In 1944 the sad story of the Schilder case came to its climax. This essay is not the place to sum up what happened: I would refer readers to Rudolf Van Reest and Douwe van Dijk for a full narrative account. [NOTE vanreest] The upshot was that when Schilder was deposed from his office as a minister in the churches and removed from his professorship, a great many other office-bearers in the churches were also suspended and/or deposed. The result was the formation of a new denomination or federation of churches (the latter term is preferred by followers of Schilder). In the Netherlands these churches are referred to unofficially as the "liberated" churches, and in Canada their counterparts are known officially as "Canadian Reformed."
The ostensible trigger behind this sad parade of events was a set of doctrinal declarations adopted in 1942 and 1943 which Schilder could not accept (church-order irregularities also contributed to the growing dissatisfaction with the synods and church leadership). I will not review those doctrinal declarations here: what is important to know is that the church dropped them again in 1959. Schilder and company rejected those points of doctrine as binding for their work, their preaching and teaching and so forth. Thereby they came to be regarded as mutineers in the church. They were sternly dealt with!
The Schilder case, then, was about doctrinal disagreement -- but also about personal morality and the integrity of those who were put out of the churches. It was said that they were violating vows they had taken when they were ordained or when they assumed office. Of course Schilder and company utterly repudiated such an analysis of the situation. To say that Schilder was very deeply offended by the attack on his moral integrity that culminated in his expulsion would be a vast understatement.
A kind of solidarity akin to the deep feeling that stems from family ties became quite a factor in the situation. The split in the churches ran right through families, and in time church solidarity (are you for Schilder or against him?) became stronger than family ties in many cases. I will permit myself one sad episode by way of illustration -- a true story that involves a friend of mine whose extended family was embroiled in all this heartache.
My friend's family was about to emigrate from the Netherlands to Canada. It was time to say goodbye to the folks in the old country. His family had stayed in the big, anti-Schilder church, but some of the relatives had gone with the pro-Schilder group, which meant that contact was broken off or kept to a bare minimum. One evening, just before departing for Canada, my friend's family walked over to the home of his mother's sister (part of the pro-Schilder group). It was quite common for family members who were on opposite sides of the great divide not to talk to one another for months or even for years -- so deep was the hurt and anger over the rupture. In short, my friend and his family were not welcome at the home of his aunt. And so my friend, just a boy at the time, stood out on the street with the rest of the family while his mother -- by way of exception! -- was allowed to enter the house of her pro-Schilder sister in order to say goodbye before moving to Canada. Who knew when -- or whether -- they would ever have an opportunity to see each other again?
As you listen to such a story, you might wonder: whatever happened to the "Let's just agree to disagree" attitude? Where was John Diefenbaker in all of this? Couldn't he have explained to the opponents of Schilder that they should be defending his right to theological dissent? And couldn't Diefenbaker have persuaded Schilder not to take the decisions against him so personally? Couldn't Schilder and his opponents just "agree to disagree"?
By now you probably suspect what my answer to such questions will be. The approach that gets summed up in "Let's just agree to disagree" seems to work for some situations of conflict in the pragmatic and individualistic North American society in which we now live, but it is regarded as superficial and unworkable by people in a great many other times and places.
I don't know how many punches in the nose were delivered in the course of the Schilder struggle. Christians, in any case, should avoid fisticuffs. The characteristic attitude was one of an estrangement so deep that people were frozen out of one another's lives. Although 63 years have passed and the main actors in the case are all gone, hard feeling persists.
Of course the churches were deeply damaged by all of this: indeed, they never recovered. The big church that expelled Schilder eventually drifted off its moorings, although some other factors were also at work in its subsequent history. The smaller church that resulted from the split is still alive and well and seems to be on course, but many observers would maintain that it still has a chip on its shoulder: the aftermath of the 1944 fiasco serves as a drag on its spiritual vibrancy and distorts its collective judgment on certain matters. President Truman might well maintain: sometimes a punch in the nose gets it out of everyone's system and lets you get on with life.
Sounds like a good idea, doesn't it? A punch in the nose, and then we can get on with life! Included in that "getting on with life" project is the work of Christian education, for the events I have been describing took place in the homeland of Abraham Kuyper (1837-1920), which is (or was) the land of oodles of Christian schools and organizations. But in this area, too, things eventually went wrong. The damage that flowed from the 1944 fiasco was not limited to the church and family life.
The problem, in brief, was that the two sides found it increasingly difficult to cooperate in the Christian school movement and in various other organizations. The people in the big church, the ones who had gotten their way in terms of getting rid of that pest Schilder, acted as though they didn't quite understand what the problem was. Sure -- there may be a difficulty in a church history class taught in the local Christian school, when we have to teach about 1944 and we have kids from both sides in the classroom. But we should be able to find a way around that! Surely the church history problem is not enough of a reason for the two groups to go their separate ways in Christian education!
There was a much deeper problem. Some people just don't get it, while others feel it in their very gut. The problem is sometimes referred to as an "ethical conflict." It has to do with respect and honor.
I think I can say that I have always understood this problem -- both intellectually and emotionally. Or perhaps I should say that I have understood it instinctively ever since I was old enough to read and think about such things (I was a lover of church history as a teenager). Even though my roots are in the big anti-Schilder church and I have no relatives in the pro-Schilder church, I understood how difficult it would be to be told on Sunday, "You don't belong here with us" and on Monday, "Come on in and join us at the Christian school meeting -- we need all the help we can get!" I would also see an "ethical conflict" at work there.
Some tried to argue that the beloved Kuyperian doctrine of sphere-sovereignty was the key to solving the difficulty. Church and school were separate "spheres." Therefore, what happened in church did not need to upset the applecart in the Christian school movement.
But the Schilder followers maintained that life is all of one piece, and that the confessions of the church, along with the promises and commitments made during worship, flowed naturally into one's everyday life and therefore came to expression in the activities of Monday through Saturday. Hence, if we cannot be one on Sunday and come to the Lord's table together, neither can we be one when we turn to the work of Christian education.
What about the church people on the local level? Most of them had not personally been suspended and/or deposed; what they had done was to declare spiritual solidarity with those who had, that is, with Schilder and some of the best-known leaders, and perhaps also with the pastor of their local church, who had taken a stand with Schilder and been deposed. When they reacted as they did to the overall situation, they were showing that they were unalterably opposed to compartmentalization. Their opposition -- some would probably say: their stubbornness on this point -- should not strike anyone as strange, for compartmentalization had always been the enemy in Reformed circles in which Kuyper's thinking held sway.
Think about it for a moment. Why are Christian schools necessary in the first place? Why can't we put math and chemistry and grammar and physical education and such subjects in separate compartments? Why let a quarrel in the church spill over into Christian activity in the field of physical education? Is there really a need to be Christian in all these fields? Why insist on dragging the Bible and its teaching into all sorts of subject-matters? Surely what is important for us is to be Christian in our relation to the Lord Jesus Christ, that is to say, in spiritual things. Our first and foremost concern should be for our salvation!
To any and all such lines of reasoning, Kuyper responded with his programmatic declaration that there is not one square inch (geen duimbreed) that Christ does not claim for himself. Everything connects to everything else: what we confess in church on Sunday has implications for all areas of life. And so the casual pragmatism that says, in effect, "We really don't care where and how you worship on Sunday -- just come and help us in the Christian school on Monday" has no place in the hearts and minds of Kuyperians.
This Kuyperian opposition to compartmentalization also applies to marital life. Sometimes a prominent political leader -- perhaps even the head of government -- is discovered to have behaved in deplorable ways in the domain of sexual morality. Let's say that he has deceived and then humiliated his wife through illicit sexual contact with another woman. Some people in our society quickly declare: "It's none of our business. As long as he does a good job of representing our country and managing the finances and so forth, I've got no problem with him." Yet there are others who maintain that they simply cannot vote for a man who would treat people -- especially his own wife -- in such a callous and cavalier manner. What they are presupposing is that life is all of one piece -- no compartmentalization!
Perhaps the most interesting of the Christian organizations in the Netherlands that were affected by the 1944 split was the Association for Calvinistic Philosophy, which brought together academic people in philosophy and quite a number of other disciplines to consider the implications of the new impetus in philosophy that stemmed from the work of Herman Dooyeweerd (1894-1977) and D.H.T. Vollenhoven (1892-1978) at the Free University of Amsterdam. Schilder was associated with this movement and organization as well: he had a keen interest in philosophy and held a Ph.D. in the subject, which he had earned at a German university. He wrote his doctoral dissertation under the supervision of Eugen Herrigel (1884-1955), of all people. [NOTE herrigel]
The rift that became a rupture in the Christian school world extended to this Association as well. Benne Holwerda (1909-1952), a close associate of Schilder in the new churches, still attended a meeting of the Association, perhaps hoping that he could persuade colleagues in the anti-Schilder churches to budge from their position (many of them were quite sympathetic to Schilder theologically and believed he had been treated unjustly, but they could not quite bring themselves to leave the church of their fathers). The circumstances under which Holwerda left that meeting, held on June 12, 1946, and thereby broke with the Association, are both touching and distressing: I have told this story in an essay in the reformational history series.
Also touching and distressing is what became of the relationship between Schilder and Vollenhoven, who had worked together on various matters in sunnier years and enjoyed a fine friendship. The problem, as Schilder saw it, was that although Vollenhoven had supported him loyally in the church struggle, as did Dooyeweerd, he never took the final step of joining the pro-Schilder churches.
Contact between the two of them dwindled. On Reformation Day (October 31), 1950, Schilder finally wrote a letter to his old friend Vollenhoven, prodding him on the main issue. Vollenhoven wrote back to Schilder and assured him that he was welcome at the Vollenhoven home in Amsterdam, where he had sometimes been a guest in happier days. But less than a year and a half later (on March 23, 1952), Schilder died unexpectedly. It was eight years to the day after the synod had suspended him from office. The time for a friendly visit as a prelude to a broader reconciliation was over!
Even though I deeply regret and deplore this entire set of developments, I am sympathetic to the attitude taken by Schilder and many of his followers. When your moral and spiritual integrity is denied in such a situation, you simply cannot set your feelings off to one side, say "What the heck!" and start to act as though there is no issue between you and those who have condemned you and cast you out.
Still, there were younger and less prominent followers of Schilder who pursued a different course in this matter. I'm not sure what went on deep in their hearts. Perhaps it was as though they were responding to a special call from the Lord Jesus: "Can you do this for Me?" And the "this" was that they should remained seated and not stomp out of the meeting of the Association for Calvinistic Philosophy. And remain seated they did: they decided not to abandon their place in the Association. They may have taken some heat for this decision in their churches, but they felt it imperative to continue cooperation and collaboration in the work of Christian scholarship and Christian philosophy with believers in the big church that had cast Schilder out. In time these "liberated" Reformed Christians became a bigger and bigger presence within the Association, numerically speaking. Enjoying the benefit of hindsight, I am content to conclude that they did the right thing. On the other hand, I would probably have done what Holwerda did if I had been faced with such a choice at that time, for I, too, am a man of deep feeling.
Is there anything to be done about these baleful effects of frictophobia? Is there any way to avoid such a stream of events that ends up allowing and even encouraging kindred Christians to drift apart, to the point that they engage in little or no cooperation and joint action? At first, in the heat of battle, you want to confront the people on the other side and engage them in fierce debate and show them the error of their ways. But eventually you grow weary, and frictophobia sets in. You see them coming down the street, walking toward you, and you cross over to the other side so as to avoid having to exchange greetings.
Given the reality of sin in our lives, we must expect that there will be explosions in human relations from time to time. But can nothing be done to heal the wounds that are caused? Is our tradition utterly impotent? Do we need workshops from Buddhists to learn serenity?
In theory we have the answers. Any theologian -- indeed, any pastor -- knows those answers. But because we do not make much use of those answers (by "we" I mean especially Christians who share a Dutch ethnic heritage and an upbringing in Reformed churches with Dutch roots), I will review them here and comment on why they seem to me not to work as effectively as might be expected.
I do all of this in the hope of persuading people not to remain mired in frictophobia but instead to take the promise of the Gospel seriously. Our new life in Christ offers hope of reconciliation. We are to live at peace with all men (see Romans 12:18). Living at peace does not include being so deeply estranged from some other believers that we never, never see them anymore and therefore feel no inclination to give them a punch in the nose.
A key Biblical resource is Ephesians 4: "Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil." [Verses 26-27] The meaning is plain: anger is part of life, but it can easily lead to sinful estrangement. Don't let the devil have his way with you! Before nightfall, deal with your anger and try to mend your relationship with the brother or sister who is giving you grief.
I'm sure we all recognize the value of this text for marriage. Before you climb into the double bed with your spouse tonight, clear up that episode where your tongue got away on you and you said something mean and hurtful. Otherwise you won't sleep. Or perhaps your spouse won't want to sleep alongside you. One of you may wind up on the couch, or in another bedroom.
I try to practice this discipline in my own marriage, which is not yet five years in duration. Janet and I have never let the sun set on our anger. In my first marriage, when I was young and foolish ... well, there were some occasions that I'm not proud of. There are things in life you'd dearly like to return to and change -- I'm no exception.
There are people who will tell you that time takes care of these things in its own way. (The implication, I suppose, is that if you've been sleeping on the couch for a couple of months, you can take heart, for eventually you'll make it back into the double bed.) But I'm not so sure. I've spent a lot of my time and life's energy trying to heal wounds that go back to the Schilder fiasco of 1944. I've had some success, but not nearly as much as I expected [NOTE seeking]
The old resentments linger. Why? One reason is that they don't get discussed. Through my writings and translations having to do with the Schilder problem, I have tried to get people to take a fresh look at 1944. Some have done as I have asked, but many others seem to be counting on time to do the job for us.
A story told me by a leader in the Schilder camp illustrates the problem. As the years and decades went by, many leaders in the pro-Schilder churches began feeling sheepish about what they had done in 1944: G.C. Berkouwer (1903-96), who presided over the 1944 deliberations, was among them. [NOTE berkouwer] Maybe Schilder wasn't such a bad guy after all. Official statements of regret were issued by the big church. [NOTE regret]
Some years ago one of the original leaders in the Schilder camp was coming to the end of his life. The word reached former friends and associates in the big church camp, who thought they should call on their former colleague one more time before he entered eternity. A couple of them knocked on the door of the family home and were admitted. They were then allowed to spend time with the dying man in private. When they were done, the family members went in to see the dying man, eager to find out how things had gone. I got the story from the dying man's son, who told me that his father mustered some energy and said with considerable determination: "Geen woord over de zaak!" [Not a word about the case!] In other words, it had been pleasantries. An apology was in order, or a statement of regret, and surely the visitors realized that there would be no more opportunities, but it was not forthcoming.
The churches that spring from the Schilder fiasco are known to be quite strict about communion -- too strict, according to many people in other churches. Yet in their defense it should be noted that what they practice is just what the Reformed churches of old took for granted as the proper Christian way -- closed communion, strictly supervised, with attestations, and so forth. Hence there was no thought of joint communion between the Schilder people and their 1944 opponents in the big church. "Sweet communion" is a wonderful ideal but an elusive goal.
It is my contention in this essay that communion and its requirements should be considered a second resource we can use to move us beyond frictophobia and its tendency to ignore matters that need our attention. (The first resource, discussed above, is Ephesians 4:26-27.)
If people who are engaged in a nasty quarrel in a Christian organization could be put under some spiritual pressure to get things worked out because we will soon have to go to the Lord's table together, the problems I am reviewing in this essay would be a little less formidable. One reason why communion does not function for us as much of a resource for promoting harmony is that we are losing the sense of what it means to be "in communion." We think of denominations as being "in communion." If you belong to denomination A, then, when you travel to Europe, you will be eligible to take communion with denomination B, for A and B recognize one another as "sister churches." This is well and good -- but it is not enough.
We should not leave the "in communion" matters to denominational officials to work out. We also need to ask ourselves whether we are "in communion" with those around us. At a very early point in my relationship with Janet, who is now my wife, I expressed a desire to be "in communion" with her, by which I meant that I would like the two of us to go to the Lord's table together. It was done -- at a service in my church. We grew closer. At our wedding a number of months later, communion was the first item on the agenda once the vows had been exchanged: we partook first, and then the congregation followed. If there ever came a day when I felt estranged from Janet to the point that I could not take communion with her -- well, I would be devastated, to put it mildly.
Is this idealistic talk on my part? Might one say in response, "Well, I suppose that's fine for marriage, but you have to be more realistic and down-to-earth when it comes to the people you work with"? Perhaps so, but in a Christian organization one should nevertheless strive to be "in communion" with one's colleagues. There should be a unity of spiritual purpose, a mutual acceptance. Sometimes there is, and sometimes there isn't.
Let's make up a case and probe its implications. Suppose that Christopher has worked happily in a sizable Christian organization for many years (we'll call it Barnabas Bounties -- it's involved in overseas relief work). Because Barnabas solicits money for its operations not just from Christians and churches but also from governments and corporations, it begins to adopt "modern" policies that make you look like you are part of the contemporary scene. Included are anti-discrimination and anti-harassment policies as implementations of the political correctness agenda that we have come to take for granted.
One day Christopher is accused of some form of harassment (it doesn't matter which kind -- all harassment is loathsome and despicable). A quasi-judicial investigation ensues. Christopher presents testimony to the effect that what is alleged not only didn't happen but could not have happened because of such-and-such facts (for which he has no independent corroboration). If the facts to which he testifies are accepted at face value, that is to say, if his word is believed, he cannot be guilty. But he is found guilty. His testimony has been rejected. He must have lied to protect himself. Now what?
At this point, Christopher, who is not lying and is even willing to swear an oath and take a lie-detector test to back up his testimony, is no longer "in communion" with his fellow employees -- at least, not with those who played a role in the investigation and found him guilty. You may be thinking: he'll probably have to find another job as well. In fact, such proceedings as the Christopher's prosecution for harassment often turn out to be a curious mixture of severity and leniency -- severity in the way the prosecution is handled, and leniency in terms of punishment (a letter of reprimand is placed in his file). The real punishment was humiliation: it began on the day Christopher was informed of the charges against him.
In old-fashioned Christian terms we have a problem here: one person in the community is deeply estranged from some others and cannot go to the Lord's table with them. In secular terms (and remember that the policies and procedures used against Christopher originated in secular circles), there is no problem (likewise, there is no communion). Sure, Christopher was found guilty, but he got off with a slap on the wrist. What's the big deal anyway? There are two very different mentalities at work here.
So what happens in such a case? Probably nothing. Christopher has some close friends who are aware of what he is feeling, but there are also people at Barnabas whose attitude is: Suck it up, Christopher, and get back to work!
Anabaptists are more sensitive about these matters than Reformed Christians. Betty Preis tells us:
Years ago, Mennonite elders spoke with each member of their congregation before communion was to be celebrated, in order to ensure that all were at peace with God and with one another. If a relationship was broken, those involved would be encouraged to resolve the matter between them so that an authentic communion could be observed. What would it be like if we took the ritual of communion this seriously today? What would our faith communities be like if before every communion we went from home to home ensuring that we were at peace with one another -- even if we still disagreed? In Christ, we are one body. Let us celebrate this union with humility and in a spirit of forgiveness and grace. [NOTE preis]
A practically minded person might respond: what Preis says here sounds great -- for the church! May they celebrate "authentic communion" there. But a Christian organization like Barnabas is not a faith community in any such sense. Christopher should be told: It's just a job!
This line of thought is basically another instance of compartmentalized thinking. Those ideals of harmony and unity and "sharing the peace" before proceeding with communion -- that's all Sunday stuff that applies to the church. A Christian school or a Christian organization (in operation Monday through Saturday) is an entirely different beast, and it needs to be kept running through the use of an entirely different manual. The church order has no place here. But we do need to keep an eye on the latest pronouncements of the Human Rights Commission.
Well, the Human Rights Commission is also starting to stick its nose into church affairs. In time a partial secularization may be necessary there as well. And so I see a choice before us. Perhaps we could call it a fork in the road.
The one possibility is to be quite cold-blooded and pragmatic. This would amount to saying that we should not nourish such grandiose conceptions of Christian schools and organizations. There's nothing wrong with a bit of a consumer mentality in relation to the Christian school. You pay your fees, get your services, and once your kids are beyond school age, you get out of there. You're done. Now you can afford to go on a cruise in February.
As for Christopher and his hurt feelings, well, if he doesn't like it at Barnabas, he can always look for another job. Or perhaps he can become a member of a Roman Catholic religious order -- if there are any left that engage in monastic "confession of faults" and other such peculiar practices aimed at maintaining spiritual harmony and unity within the brotherhood.
Christopher should save his spiritual idealism for Sundays and focus it on the local church. On the other hand, if some of his Barnabas accusers are members of his local church, he does have a problem. Maybe he should switch to another congregation.
The other possibility I see is to affirm that such a thing as spiritual unity of purpose also has great value for Christian schools and organizations. This would be to say that discord in a Christian organization is recognized as a canker that drains our energies, just as in the churches. But if we went in this direction, we might need to implement some church practices in our Christian organizations. What would then become of our anti-discrimination and anti-harassment policies?
It is sometimes said that the perfect or the best is the enemy of the good. This is another saying that apparently stems from Voltaire. I have also seen it as: The perfect is the enemy of the good enough.
Perhaps some will read this essay, pronounce it interesting, and then conclude that we would do well to leave things as they are. Things are not perfect at Barnabas Bounties, but they're pretty good, and if we strive for the perfect, we may loose the good we now have. A sad conclusion, in my judgment.
Tobias S. Haller, an Anglican, would choose for the pretty good over the perfect. Reflecting on problems in his own communion, he writes:
Can a communion include those who are unwilling to remain in communion with those with whom they disagree? To what extent is unanimity a requirement for communion? If we can remain unified on the "essentials" of the Lambeth Quadrilateral (trusting each other to interpret the Scriptures with sufficient fidelity and not judging each other) then there is hope for the Anglican Communion. If instead we become fixated on passing resolutions determining who is in and who is out, we cease to be a voluntary society of the faithful and become little more than a sect. There is great wisdom in the Anglican acknowledgment that the church is a mixed body in which good and bad coexist (see Article XXVI). [TP: a reference to the 39 Articles, which is the Anglican creed, composed during the Reformation era.] This is what Jesus was getting at in the parable of the wheat and the tares: let them grow together until the harvest. [NOTE haller]
The time for the perfect, it would appear, is after Christ's return, when we'll finally get rid of the tares or weeds (see Matthew 13). If only we could learn the spirit of tolerance! Christopher needs to learn how to tolerate those who have condemned him as a harasser and a liar.
Perhaps some things just can't be fixed. This issue brings to mind a student we had at our college a number of years ago: I'll call him Bill Boobelsma. Bill had quite an interest in things electronic, and if you were having trouble with your fancy system for watching movies and listening to music, a system that gave you superb sound as old components and new worked in peerless harmony (well, they used to work in harmony), you might well find Bill in your living room offering to take a look. He was quite good at taking things apart. Sometimes he found the source of the difficulty, sometimes he didn't. But he also had a short attention span, and so he was apt to wander off, and there were your components on the living room floor in a state of disassembly. After a while the word went on Bill Boobelsma: don't let him dismantle your stuff!
Leaders in Reformed organizations sometimes remind me of Bill Boobelsma. They're quite good at taking your life apart and bringing charges and figuring out exactly what so-and-so did wrong, but then there are other challenges to be faced, important meetings to attend -- perhaps a conference in California, or Korea (I'll be back in three weeks).
I haven't seen Bill Boobelsma since he left ur college. Perhaps he's an administrator in a Christian organization by now.
To John Diefenbaker I say, in conclusion: I deeply respect your commitment to civil liberties, but I cannot quite share your determination to defend anyone's right to say anything. There are some things better left unsaid. We are to speak the truth in love, never forgetting what we read in James 3 ("... but no human being can tame the tongue -- a restless evil, full of deadly poison ..."). And to Harry Truman I say: You're probably right. In this vale of tears, where perfection seems but a distant dream, it might just be best to give someone a punch in the nose and be done with it. [END]
NOTES
NOTE berkouwer
Berkouwer reflected on Schilder and 1944 (and on many other things as well) in a volume of reflections and reminiscences published late in life: see Zoeken en vinden: Herinneringen en ervaringen (Kampen: J.H. Kok, 1989).
NOTE haller
See "What Constitutes a Sufficient Body To Be Church?" Online: viamedia-dallas.org/t-haller-14-jul-2004.php
NOTE herrigel
Schilder obtained his Ph.D. from the University of Erlangen in Germany. His dissertation, was entitled Zur Begriffsgeschichte des "Paradoxon": Mit besonderer Berücksichtigung Calvins und des nach-kierkegaardschen "Paradoxon" (Kampen: J.H. Kok, 1933). Herrigel, his supervisor, is well known as the author of Zen in the Art of Archery, tr. R.F.C. Hull (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1953).
NOTE preis
See Betty Preis, "Being in Communion: Unity Amid Conflict in the Church," online www.mennovision.org/Vol%208%20No%201/Pries_Being%20in%20communion.pdf
Her website: www.mediationserviceswpg.ca/training/trainers/pries/
NOTE regret
In 1988, the General Synod of the churches that deposed Schilder issued the following statement of regret about the events of 1944: "Looking back to the events of 1944 and the years thereafter, we first want to express our sadness about the part our churches played in the schism that came about in our churches. We acknowledge that at that time, our churches, out of a concern for the purity of doctrine, placed too much of a stumbling block before certain brothers and sisters. Our churches could have gotten along without those doctrinal statements concerning the covenant and baptism, as is apparent from the fact that they were set aside in 1959; and therefore, when those doctrinal statements did not bring about the rest for which the people hoped but led, on the contrary, to opposition, they should not have been maintained as binding in character. Our churches did not pay enough attention to the needs of the conscience of certain brothers and sisters, and thereby they themselves became the occasion for the schism brought about by those brothers and sisters. And even if the things that have happened can no longer be changed, we regret to the uttermost that our churches themselves became the occasion for brothers and sisters to have to bear the burden of being condemned as schismatic -- a burden they continue to bear to this day. We ask the church to join us in praying that the Spirit will heal us and make us whole." See Van Reest, Schilder's Struggle, p. 401.
NOTE seeking
My efforts in this regard are reflected especially in Seeking our Brothers in the Light: A Plea for Reformed Ecumenicity, ed. Theodore Plantinga (Neerlandia, Alberta, and Caledonia, Michigan: Inheritance Publications, 1992). Seeking was not just a book; it was an ecumenical project. In both the book and the project, I had a partner and collaborator: Rev. Richard Wynia, who is now serving as pastor of a United Reformed congregation located in Wyoming, Ontario.
NOTE vanreest
See Rudolf Van Reest, Schilder's Struggle for the Unity of the Church, trans. Theodore Plantinga (Neerlandia, Alberta: Inheritance Publications, 1990). See also Douwe Van Dijk My Path to Liberation: Reflections on My Life in the Ministry of the Word of God, trans. Theodore Plantinga (Inheritance Publications, 2004).
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