Week 5: Sowing Seeds of Justice

This week, we are outside Nashville, TN For the New Room Conference, a gathering of Wesleyan-leaning pastors, teachers, and disciples of Jesus who desire another move of God– or awakening– in our day and time. The conference is mainly sponsored by Seedbed Publishing of Asbury Seminary but is attended by many different denominations and represents many affiliations across the ecumenical spectrum. For years, my husband and I have desired to come but between three young kids, the price of tickets, and Covid, we have not had the chance to attend. This year, after receiving two tickets from our bishops, we have delighted in beautiful teaching, ministry community, and simply a short time to get away together.

All around the conference, I have seen prints of “The Sower’s Seed,” a proclamation by Seedbed of what a life of discipleship and “Kingdom-cultivation” looks like as we live out the Gospel in our given contexts. The creed says this:

“Today I sow for a Great Awakening. Today, I stake everything on the promise of the Word of God. I depend entirely on the power of the Holy Spirit. I have the same mind in me that was in Christ Jesus. Because Jesus is good news and Jesus is in me I am good news. Today, I will sow the extravagance of the Gospel everywhere I go and into everyone I meet. Today, I will love others as Jesus has loved me. Today, I will remember that the tiniest seeds become the tallest trees; that the seeds sown today become the shade of tomorrow; that the faith of right now becomes the future of the everlasting Kingdom. Today, I sow for a Great Awakening.”

Sowing seeds for the Kingdom of God in the world is a radical act and practice that includes generosity, presentness, care, and attentiveness to the world– all of which are aspects of the Compassionate Stream, the Christian tradition of social justice. To give one’s life for the Kingdom to take root in our communities, neighborhoods, and global landscapes is not just a nod to the Great Commission, but a submission to the Great Commandment: to love God and love our neighbors. Here, rooted in Divine Love and our local, give lives, we sow like farmers tending and caring for our spaces and the promise of life here. Bonhoeffer reminds us that it is not a singular, individual work, but one that requires all of us and is based “in what Christ has done to us.”[1] In fact, much of The Sower’s Creed echoes Bonhoeffer’s emphasis on the Word of God, the declaration of God’s goodness to one another, and the communal life together that both foster real fruit for the Kingdom.

However, I have to admit that when I first arrived at the conference, I had some questions about how justice fit in our understanding of Kingdom cultivation. And these questions had far less to do with New Room itself, but rather our spiritual pilgrimages and Christian gatherings more broadly.

Here’s what I mean:

To start, consider that a single ticket to attend the conference is hundreds of dollars, a somewhat steep price to have access to a yearly theological conversation. I know very few people in my own congregation who could afford the ticket let alone the drive, hotel stay, and meals to come to New Room. Such a privilege made me wonder about the accessibility of spiritual gatherings, particularly for the poor. And how would we feel if we brought a bunch of people from the margins into such spaces? Would we welcome them if they were here?

The conference, like most conferences and gatherings and Christian concerts, took place in a massive church with multiple sanctuaries and acres of mowed landscape. As I walked through the manicured lawns and high ceiling corridors, I was reminded of Elizabeth O’Connor’s essay about “downward mobility,” our church budgets, and how we tithe, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she would think about this space– a space that was called a “world outreach center” but required the world to come in its doors to be reached.[2] What do we do with mega-spaces and mega-budgets? How we need these spaces and yet there is something contradictory about the flags in the corners and the scale of our spaces…

Earlier today, I ran into a group of Spanish-speaking women hired to clean the bathrooms between sessions. Meanwhile herds of Anglo men and women enjoyed the sessions unbothered by the women crouched around sinks and stalls. These women were some of the only ethnic minorities I saw this past week, and they were the cleaning staff. I wondered if anyone had talked to them, thanked them, or even looked at them as they shifted silently in the background. I considered our spiritual exercise of seeing the face of God in the overlooked, and I wondered how God felt about these women replacing toilet paper and wiping down wet sinks. [3] I imagined how Jesus always noticed the women no one else seemed to care about, talking to them and even revealing himself to them. I managed to muster a smile and “thank you” before leaving the bathroom, but I was aware of how little this was compared to the deep seeing of Christ. Seeing God in those who serve us can often feel quite uncomfortable. 

The convergence of inequality, extravagant resources, and the benefits they offer the church echoes John Woolman’s prophetic voice from 250 years ago: “My mind is often led to consider the purity of the Divine Being and the justice of his judgements, and herein my soul is covered in awe.”[4] Woolman’s life models the drastic and yet essential confrontations one must make to resist the injustices of our times, even if these same thing benefit us. Woolman’s downsizing of his business and walking out of John Woodard’s house during dinner are two incredibly powerful stories that illustrate the power of a life marked by integrity. And so Woolman shows us that we cannot plant seeds of prophetic words without the difficult and costly actions that true cultivation requires. As Woolman truly embodied the Greatest Commandment, he brought about a great awakening in our country, a movement of God and justice that brought an entire community (the Quakers) into righteousness far before the established abolition movement of the 19th century. The external work of justice and compassion was rooted in an inner conviction of the person and love of God. 

For Woolman, his life of justice was a convergence of his inner and outer life. And as I look around during my time at New Room, I wonder what such a convergence could look like. In all fairness, Seedbed rented the space from the local church community and did not necessarily agree with their practices or theology. And while I struggled to wrestle this massive, expensive space with the justice topics discussed this week, I could also admit the tension of needing a space that held the thousands of attendees. I could not help seeing how the space facilitated the conference well, how comfortable it all has been. The space facilitates the meetings well. The conference has been incredible, and I’ve received so much here.

Perhaps that is what makes this all so much more difficult.
One cannot ignore where we can live more compassionate, open-handed lives.
And yet we cannot negate the amazing good work God is doing here, too.

Sometimes, we can look back and see injustice clearly. Other times, it feels like parsing through a thicket where a few weeds have sprouted up amidst the harvest.

How do we pull up the weeds without uprooting the sacred seed planted by the Great Sower?

A similar complexity arose in the content of our time together. Here at New Room, there were so many courageous calls for racial, intergenerational, and gender reconciliation in almost all of the sessions, seamlessly interwoven into the gospel message. There were calls to creation care, panels on the mental health crisis, and empowerment seminars for women in ministry. These, too, are all amazing things. God is at work! Goodness abounds!

And yet, there was also an acknowledgement of how far we need to go. It was obvious to attendants and speakers alike that the conference was almost entirely Anglo in heritage. While the speakers and leaders displayed a wide array of background, genders, ethnicities, and expertise, I could not help wondering if our spirituality has an element of elitism to it– not from what the speakers were saying, but from who came to hear and join in. As a result, we are definitely weaker in our lack of diversity and inclusion.

I could not help but wonder how Jeremy Taylor would feel about our need for greater diversity. Taylor writes one should “[n]ever be ashamed of your birth, of your parents, your occupation, or your present employment, or the lowly status of any of them. When there is an occasion to speak about them to others, do not be shy, but speak readily, with an indifference to how clothes will regard you.”[5] Perhaps Taylor knew that the truly humble person– marked by giving “God thanks for every weakness, fault, and imperfection”– has incredible awareness in who they are and who they are not, and thus bring glory to God in the truth-telling.[6] Perhaps the humility of being seen and seeing others in all their endless differences are in fact keys for Kingdom, essential for our ability to see God in His endless variety here on earth. 

I imagine that William Temple would concur, and would maybe even argue that our salvation depends on healing of our ego-centric perception of the world through the exposure to our neighbors. In fact, his understanding of original sin is one of the best definitions I’ve heard: 

Our standard of value is the way things affect us. Each of us takes our place in the center of our own world. But I am not the center of the world, or the stand of reference between good and bad. I am not, but God is.[7]

Diversity dislodges our own values as the center of all things and reminds us that there are other values, other realities that are just as valid and essential if we are to truly understand reality as it is. Often, it is through our exposure to the experiences of others that we see far more clearly the good and the evil around us. We see that there is more to the Kingdom than our little corner of the proverbial field, and that the Generous Sower is casting seed far and wide. Only the Sower is the one with the vantage point to define righteousness and to lead us into real truth. He is generous, and yet we must humbly rely on Him to right our narrow vision of the world. The work of the Kingdom is larger and far more fast than our little plot. 

And yet, we recognize that diversity is a challenge. Differing background, experiences, and opinions do not lead to neat and tidying endings all the time. This past week, while at New Room, I’ve been surrounded by the stories of UMC brothers and sisters experiencing the deep schism of their denominational family. As my theological cousins, I’ve tried to practice listening to them as family, grieving and weeping and questioning. [8] Their stories overflow out without much prompting, pain etched into even the most hopeful. My own denomination has absorbed quite a few local bodies that are attending New Room, and even in their trepid rejoicing, I hear the echoes of warning from our forefather John Wesley himself. His warning to “[b]eware of schism” and “[d]o not even give a single thought of separating from your brethren, whether their opinions agree with yours or not'' feel haunting the wake of such intertribal feuds.[9] As the words of our collective father loom over us all here, I consider how Methodists eventually split from the Anglican church and my own Free Methodist denomination split during abolition. Are there ever times for schism? Is there a way to split and still practice a love that “is the highest gift of God”?[10]

As the conference wraps up tomorrow, I consider the difficulty of sowing seeds for the Kingdom within a soil that is rocky, full of weeds, riddled with roads and birds– all hindrances to seeds of God’s Word taking root in our hearts and those around us. How do we compassionately love the world with all of its complex diversity, injustice, and schism? Is this all even possible? If there is lingering disparity at such an insular Christian event, what hope is there out in our given lives? And how do we celebrate the incredible beauty that we witness around us without ignoring where greater love and grace can be extended to our neighbors? 

Perhaps the only hope I can cling to in terms of justice here and now are Hannah Whitall Smith’s words:

God’s way of working, therefore, is to get possession of the inside of us, to take the control and management of our will, and to work it for us.[11] 

It is indeed God’s work, the Great Sower, that begins within us. He must do the deep uprooting and planting and tending of the Kingdom flourishing around us. May we be faithful and willing for him to do the work in and through us wherever we go, whoever our neighbor.

Bibliography

[1] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, “Christ in Community,” from Foster, Richard J., and James Bryan Smith, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 274. 
[2] Elizabeth O’Connor, “Dealing with Money,” from Foster, Richard J., and James Bryan Smith, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 253. 
[3] Elizabeth O’Connor, “Dealing with Money,” 256. 
[4] John Woolman, “Breaking the Yoke of Oppression,” from Foster, Richard J., and James Bryan Smith, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 232. 
[5] Jeremy Taylor, “The Grace of Humility,” from Foster, Richard J., and James Bryan Smith, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 245. 
[6] Jeremy Taylor, “The Grace of Humility,” 247. 
[7] William Temple, “The Church’s Impact upon Society,” from Foster, Richard J., and James Bryan Smith, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 224. 
[8] This is a exercise suggested in Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s section of Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 276. 
[9] John Welsey, “Loving One Another,” from Foster, Richard J., and James Bryan Smith, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 261. 
[10] John Welsey, “Loving One Another,” 259. 
[11] Hannah Whitall Smith, “Recovering the Joy of Service,” from Foster, Richard J., and James Bryan Smith, Devotional Classics: Selected Readings for Individuals and Groups ( San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1993), 240.