Reports of the Death of United Methodism are Greatly Exaggerated

Reflections from a weekend embedded in the UMC

“There is growing weariness in the United Methodist Church. Our people are tired. They are struggling with attendance, giving, and momentum. I just want them to have renewed hope that their church can survive …and maybe even grow.”

I was sitting on a Zoom call with fellow conference presenters and the church that was hosting us. All of the presenters were feverishly taking notes, trying to catch the Lead Pastor’s vision for the conference at which we were all scheduled to speak.

But unlike the others, I was watching the pastor’s face. Weariness was written in the lines across his forehead and it was obvious that he was imploring us to give others what he himself also needed, a bit of encouragement in what seemed a never-ending battle.

He had every reason to be discouraged. The United Methodist Church has been locked for years in a fight for control and direction of the denomination. The battle ground, a single issue: LGTBQ+ affirmation.

Unable to come to terms, many United Methodists decided to disfellowship… pulling out of the UMC.

But as with all such infighting, there are never any winners… only losers. I could see the losses written across his face.

The loss of friendships. The loss unity. The loss of hope.

“We desperately need to put the focus and attention back on reaching people,” he concluded, with a sigh.

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As a presenter, I prepared for the worst.

A disaffected and disinterested audience is a difficult environment for a conference speaker. For me personally, a connection with the audience and a shared synergy is critical to making the most of my time.

This was going to be a challenge.

No matter the emotional temperature in the room, I hoped my talk on innovation would offer fresh ideas for them to consider. But in the days before the conference, there was a request that I pivot to move my focus away from innovation and place it more on risk-taking.

“I want you to tell your story.”

The Conference Lead on the other end of the call knew the church battles I had gone through over the years. He knew that, in many ways, my journey mirrored the UMC’s.

“They need to know that they can do this. They can’t innovate if they are too scared to risk.”

He made a good point, and I hated it.

Contrary to prevailing opinion, I really don’t like talking about myself. And I had never shared the details of my church hurt.

It was vulnerable space for me.

But he was right. I was a walking billboard for life beyond brokenness.

So I arrived ready to give a risky talk on risk.

“Despite all that you have gone through, the Methodist brand remains largely untarnished in the court of public opinion.”

I heard audible gasps from a few tables in the auditorium, a couple of whispered “whaaat?”s, and a few random “yes!” and applauds.

I hadn’t expected that part of my presentation to get a reaction.

It startled me.

But it also immediately clicked in my head as to why the response.

They hadn’t stopped long enough to consider that the outside world hadn’t seen what they had seen or experienced what they had experienced. To them, Methodism was a hot mess. But to the outside world, the Methodist reputation was largely unharmed.

So, I just went with it…

“… and if people DO have an opinion about United Methodists right now, it’s an increasingly positive one. They are cheering for you as you fight for full inclusion. They want you to succeed. This matters to them, not just to you.”

Over the weekend, people would continue to privately comment to me on how that thought had wrecked them.

It had given them hope and a new perspective.

Secretly, I hoped it would also give them the courage to keep taking risks.

“You can’t tell who the queer people are, you know.”

Wait, what?!

I had been commenting to one of the Church/Conference Staff Members about the emotional response I was having to worshipping in a space where the LGTBQ+ community was free to volunteer, be on the worship team, serve on staff, teach/preach, etc.

No boundaries or barriers to participation; full inclusion and affirmation.

It was one of the most beautiful, compelling, and soul-wrenching things that I had ever experienced. It regularly brought me to tears, and it even does now as I write about it.

“You can’t tell who the queer people are,” he said again, seeing my confused look.

You often won’t know whether they are present or not, so you simply must create an environment that invites and allows every person to be present and participate. You often won’t know if they are present, and you often won’t know if they aren’t.

“Won’t they tell you?,” I sheepishly asked.

He chuckled.

“If you had been so wounded and abused by church after church for your sexuality, would you openly invite that kind of criticism?”

He was right.

“It takes time. You have to rebuild the trust that other Christians broke. And honestly, does it even matter whether or not we know?”

He had a point.

“The UMC is lucky to have you.”

If I said that line once, I said it 50 times.

With each person I met, I had the same reaction: This person is wounded; this person is a warrior.

These people were fighting for their churches, for their congregants, and for their communities. They weren’t the ‘sit and collect a paycheck’ kind of clergy. They had skin in the game, had taken some brutal tackles, but were moving the ball down the field… they were just measuring it in inches, not yards, at the moment.

I met multiple people who had left lucrative and stable careers to enter the ordination process in a seemingly unstable denomination.

I met more than a handful of young people who had gone through deconstruction, and rather than walk away from faith, they walked more deeply into it and United Methodism.

I met some of the most creative and christ-centered local pastors and leaders that I’ve seen in a long time.

I met a number of clergy who identify as queer, gay, lesbian, and bisexual. Many had come out of denominations that had rejected them, but they found a home and opportunity to use their gifts in the welcoming stance of the UMC.

I met women, so many women clergy bringing leadership, wisdom, and strength to congregations.

It was one of the most diverse and beautiful gathering of misfit, misjudged, misunderstood, and maligned pastors I’ve been with.

And it was beautiful.

“I can’t believe the energy in this room. It’s palpable … electric. Something is happening.”

I was shouting over the worship band to the person standing next to me. I had expected to show up and find a denomination that had been so beaten down that they would have to be convinced to get up and move forward.

I had completely misjudged the situation.

There was an energy among the people that was unlike anything I had ever witnessed at a conference.

These people were weary, but they were ready to get to work.

They were ready to move on and follow the Spirit into the next season of ministry.

I sensed that they just needed to know that it was okay.

They needed permission.

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I had come to the conference hoping that I could the UMC something of value that they could take and use in their own contexts.

Instead,

I left with a heart filled with things that had been given to me.

The church is alive and well, and sometimes you will stumble over it in the most unlikely of places.