I was happy being a peripheral member of Redeemer back in 1985. I was 31 years old and was just becoming active. I taught the adult Sunday School class. The members of the class were all senior women. They were part of the capable old guard in this neighborhood church. Redeemer had accepted women as leaders well ahead of the national church.

I had just been elected to the congregation council. I joined in the congregation’s shock when one of the long-time leaders announced he would no longer continue. Our pastor recommended they nominate me as president. I felt unqualified. It wasn’t that I didn’t know church. I was a seasoned preacher’s kid from a long line of Lutheran preacher’s kids. Families of clergy are accustomed to viewing church from the outside. Ministry is the family job. Add to that the fact that I was a country gal in an urban church. A guppy out of water.

I accepted the role of president on one condition—that Elmer Hirsh, one of the seasoned leaders, serve as co-president and teach me the ropes. Deal! The annual meeting at which I was elected was the last Sunday in February.

Elmer died on March 1. From that moment, it was trial by fire.

I took the job seriously and tried with success to lead the family church in facing the changing demographics of the neighborhood.

I convinced the congregation to stay open in the summer instead of ceasing all activity in East Falls and merging worship with Grace in Roxborough. Summer is when people re-organize their lives and the church should be open, I argued.

I was president when Redeemer received its fateful endowment in 1987. This large infusion of cash made it possible to call a full-time pastor once again. I saw the shift in attitudes among clergy that occurs when it is known that a small congregation suddenly has means.

I helped the congregation transition from running their own parish school to working with the Lutheran agency, Ken-Crest, to operate a school that could help even more children. This worked well for 25 years — until SEPA interfered behind the backs of the congregation.

I married into an old Redeemer family in 1988. I left for five years when the endowment began to cause tension with clergy. I didn’t want to be part of what was happening. My old guard husband stayed on — ever loyal, but growing disillusioned. We had just reunited at Redeemer in 1997 with a change in pastors when my husband suffered a catastrophic stroke. He was to live the last nine months of his life totally dependent.

His death coincided with Bishop Almquist’s first attempt to seize Redeemer’s assets. Had Bishop Almquist made his move a couple of months earlier, he might have prevailed.

I had been absent from Redeemer for nearly a year, caring for my husband—a 24/7 job, and for five years before that. Only a few weeks after my husband’s funeral, a Redeemer member called — a woman I barely knew—asking for my help with a situation that was brewing with the Synod.

I was recovering from a horrific year. I hadn’t been working. Newly widowed, I was the sole family bread-winner and raising an 8-year-old boy solo. Even so, I agreed to help the church that had become my family church. We reorganized to face Synod’s threats.

Thus began two years of needless fighting (1998-2000).

Redeemer had already taught me a lot about what makes people work well together. I learned from Redeemer that it is OK to fight. One older member explained to me: an occasional verbal bench-clearing is good for the team. I learned that these people knew each other well enough to fight and reconcile at the same meeting. There was no shame in insisting on what you thought was right.

One Sunday, there was a momentous argument. (I DO remember what it was about!) As is typical at Redeemer, the air soon cleared and everyone sat down at the same table to work together as if nothing had happened. I noticed our pastor’s wife standing off to the side, observing and grinning. I asked her why she was smiling. “That kind of reconciliation doesn’t happen in every church,” she commented.

It was the norm at Redeemer. What comes as a surprise to us is that others are incapable of arguing, standing ground, and reconciling. We still don’t understand why this is impossible with SEPA.

Bishop Almquist gave up the always unnecessary “synodical administration” and a year later returned most of the assets the synod had seized. But his actions did lasting damage.

The current feud was made possible by his precedent. It fueled gossip within the insulated environment of church hierarchy. Redeemer became fair game. It was OK to abuse and ignore us. They’d done it before!

Today’s six-year feud could have been resolved before it started with a good, bench-clearing debate, followed by reconciliation. We are all on the same side, really. The control of property and assets — which is clearly defined in our founding documents — stands in the way of reason and ministry.

Redeemer members are trying to uphold historic Lutheran polity. Lutherans are interdependent, not hierarchical. More and more Lutherans (including clergy) don’t know that!

Fueled by clergy gossip, the Synod views Redeemer’s fortitude as a threat to their power. We see our position as doing the job of lay people.

Lutherans believe in equality of and cooperation between laity and clergy. I learned this in Confirmation Class and from the examples set by Elmer Hirsh, my husband, my adult Sunday School class, and both the old and new leadership of Redeemer. They are all saints in my book.

Somewhere in the last 25 years of the new ELCA, this strength of Lutheranism has waned and may be totally lost as we seek to emulate the structures of other denominations. Logically, other denominations should be emulating us—we have the tradition of reformation. But the concept of hierarchy is once again attractive to those who crave power.

Congregations are expected to comply with whatever the regional body sees as best. The regional body’s vision is muddied with self-interest and waning support across the board. Its information, especially from under-served smaller congregations, is often dated. Still, it’s comply or die.

And so, at least in my mind, this week commemorates the death of old Redeemer and my inauguration as one of many leaders of a new Redeemer. We went in directions none of us foresaw (and SEPA wasn’t looking). We constantly reassessed our neighborhood, our resources and our pool of talent. We were on a solid course, which still shows more promise than anything SEPA has in mind.

We remain ready to work together toward reconciliation however unlikely it seems.

No more “March forth.” More’s the pity.

photo credit: The U.S. Army via photopin cc