Holy Conferencing…Or At Least An Attempt

A reflection on a tense moment at the 2024 Virginia Annual Conference. We missed the mark, but we also moved forward.

As I tried to sleep on Friday night, my mind anxiously anticipated what lay ahead on Saturday morning. I had volunteered to be a teller for a vote that appeared to be highly contentious. For those unaware, a teller helps count the votes at our United Methodist annual conference sessions. Normally, I avoid being a teller, but this time my helpful spirit led me to volunteer.

I used to joke that I had spent 16 years avoiding this job because it always seemed stressful—always on call, always needing to be ready in case a vote was so close that it required a paper ballot. However, in a moment of helpfulness (and possibly stupidity), I volunteered my services and ended up as a teller.

The vote surrounded a resolution that offered an apology and forgiveness for the harm done to the LGBT community after the General Conference. This felt necessary for United Methodists to move forward in a manner of holy conferencing.

My mind made it seem very simple: whether you agree or disagree with people who identify as LGBT and their lifestyles, it seemed reasonable to say that harm had been done and that, at the very least, an apology was warranted. However, my 10 years as a pastor have taught me that nothing is straightforward. Every issue contains unimaginable nuances. People wrestle with their beliefs at every turn, and even something as simple as saying sorry is tough to reconcile when beliefs make it difficult.

I understand the struggle that comes with not agreeing with where a denomination stands or with something raised during an annual conference session. I have seen the faces of friends, colleagues, and others who sit uncomfortably, hearing their lives attacked by people who claim to be well-meaning and well-intentioned.

Therefore, as I sat in my seat on Friday, listening to speeches for and against this resolution for an apology, I wrestled with what it would mean for the future of this denomination, which we continue to proclaim as a “big tent.” I wanted Hampton to be a place of healing and reconciliation, though I didn't specify what kind because I had no idea. Yes, I wanted healing and reconciliation for our LGBT siblings in Christ, and though we fell short of that, if there's anything I can take away from this annual conference, it's that true holy conferencing is possible when we genuinely desire a more excellent way.

Returning to my restless Friday night sleep, the stress and anxiety that kept me awake persisted into Saturday morning. As I awoke, preparing to lead a group run of United Methodist conference members, the stress and anxiety created tension within my stomach. My entire being focused on my inevitable role as a teller in this vote.

The bishop had delayed the vote to a paper ballot because she couldn't discern a clear majority for or against the resolution after a hand and standing vote. The paper ballot would be the ultimate decider. However, it seemed like a lose-lose situation for everyone; even if a side had “won,” we wondered what that would mean for the future of this conference and the denomination.

Having heard rumors that morning that we might not need to take a paper ballot, hope began to show again. I joked that I would do anything to avoid a paper ballot. I was willing to stand up and declare that this was ridiculous, that all we were trying to do was apologize to people we had harmed, whether we agreed with their lifestyle or not. But this was not my fight to fight. Others came together and found a more excellent way—an opportunity to listen to stories of harm and for the conference to hear the harm it had caused in the past under a book of law that sought to exclude people because of who they loved.

I stood, hearing the pain that unfolded, knowing that there would be no vote to offer an apology, forgiveness, or begin the work of repentance. Yet, what seemed like a delayed apology might actually offer a path to repentance, a more excellent path.

Don't hear what I'm not saying: it sucks that we cannot even agree to apologize to someone. It sucks that we can't get people to acknowledge that harm has been caused. It sucks that even if people disagree, they can't apologize for the impact of past actions. You don't have to be part of the problem to be part of the solution. You just have to look at the past, see the harm caused, and know we can move to a better way as we connect with one another.

I know the lack of immediacy on an apology sucks for my siblings who identify as LGBT. However, I stand by what I saw as true holy conferencing in its finest form. It was a lose-lose situation where we were able to come together and begin to admit that harm had been caused and that we want to begin this path of repentance. There was no official apology, and repentance did not happen on the floor of the 2024 Virginia Annual Conference, but the work has begun. The work has begun because well-intentioned people sat down together despite their differences in beliefs.

They saw one another as siblings in Christ, each with their own struggles, who lamented more for the souls and spirits that had been harmed and wanted to find a way forward. I truly feel that fostering the commitment to move forward to seek repentance does more for our church than an infighting battle that leads to continued brokenness.

I recognize that as a straight, cisgender, white male, I have the privilege to look at this from both sides. I've never needed to receive an apology for harm perpetuated against me. In fact, I am of the privilege that now must apologize for the harm caused by generations past. I sit here apologizing for the harm of racial injustice, gender injustice, and so much more that white people, especially white males, have perpetuated against the world unjustly.

The harm caused across humanity feels so heavy. I can't imagine the weight it bears on those who have experienced it, and so I apologize. I apologize for not fighting harder, for saying the wrong thing, and even for this moment and how some may perceive it. I know this does not seem like a win, and the scars of pain are deep. Yet, I hope and pray that something is happening. The wheels of repentance often turn slowly, and because we are so unfamiliar with what repentance can truly look like, it also needs a little grease to get going.

Perhaps a conversation is exactly what we need. Perhaps more eyes need to be opened to the real harm they have caused when someone's humanity is devalued.

May we move towards repentance, recognizing how we have failed to live into God’s spirit, love, and grace each day. May we seek repentance and forgiveness with one another as a natural inclination to be in community with those with whom we disagree. Even in spaces where we cannot agree, may we still see the humanity and the image of God in our neighbors. AMEN!