Hope Church voted to disaffiliate. With 90% of Hope’s confessing members participating, the decision to disaffiliate from the Christian Reformed Church passed by 95%.
There was no joy. The vote was not about same sex marriage; the vote was about the nature of faith and the recognition that ours was no longer acceptable. With neither voice nor vote in Synod or Classis, we realized that we no longer had a place in the CRC.
After the vote, we encouraged members to stay and share. We didn’t relitigate the issues, but we made space for testimony. With the leadership of a couple chaplains and seasoned elders we asked, “How are you feeling? What are you thinking? What does this mean to you?”
There were words of conviction and question, quivering lips, and expressions of affection. There was sadness, befuddlement, and a desire to continue supporting the ministries of the CRC. There was one testimony that captured the spirit of the day.
A wise and weathered man told of his great grandfather, Jan Postman, who with his wife and nine children traveled from the Netherlands to Lethbridge, Alberta in the early 1900s. From Lethbridge this immigrant helped lug lumber across the Great Plains to build what became the first Christian Reformed Church in Canada in a region known as Nieuw Nijverdal. Tears welled up as the speaker traced the fruit of his family tree from those pioneer roots. In his words,
Three of his grandsons, including my dad, Tymen Hofman, and his brother John, became the first Canadian born pastors in the CRC. My cousin Ruth, John’s daughter, was the first woman pastor ordained in the CRC. Her brother Marv is a CRC pastor, and I have two nephews and counting who are pastors or have their seminary degrees. Both of my grandfathers were delegates to Synod as elders in their respective classes. When my brothers and I discuss what’s happening in our churches today the term we use is “tossed.” We’re being tossed out of the Christian Reformed Church. No other way to describe it.
Those in Hope’s sanctuary were stone cold silent. Everyone felt a measure of empathy and gratitude. In his world-weary baritone they heard an echo of their own stories. While many didn’t have the multi-generational history, all knew what it felt like to be tossed out of their faith family.
When Hope’s elders, deacons, and pastors expressed uncertainty about how best to love our same-sex-orientated siblings, the freedom to serve in the CRC – as currently constituted – was removed. Since its inception the CRC has wrestled with all manner of questions and for the most part has made room for disagreement and discovery. That seems to no longer be the case.
Hope Church is a middle-sized, mostly middle-aged, middle class, middle of the road congregation in the Midwest. We’ll lament being tossed, but we’ll land on our feet. We’ll grieve, but we’ll remain a Reformed Christian community. While no longer CRC, we’ll still be a Reformed witness in our little corner of the world.
Hope’s story is well-trod territory for Reformed Journal readers. One more post about disaffiliation feels like one too many oliebollen. And yet, for the life of me, I don’t understand how any of this strengthens the witness of the church. For those who led the charge to clear out the “rot” I still don’t know how any of this prospers the proclamation of the gospel.
But I do know that hope can be hewn from loss. Some who are leaving the CRC feel the buoyancy of new relationships. I hope Hope Church gets there. But for now, we’re mindful of Jan Postman leaving the Netherlands, crossing the Atlantic and three quarters of a continent, to build a new life. He and his brood left behind a home in search of a new beginning. Even as we’re tossed, we pray for the same sturdy spirit and enduring hope.
