Robert O. Browning

The Posture of the Court: Reflections leading into General Assembly Next week, elders from across the Presbyterian Church in America will gather for our 53rd General Assembly. We will worship together, hear reports, debate overtures, vote on recommendations, renew old friendships, make new ones, and probably spend more time than is healthy parsing parliamentary procedure. That is a full list for the week. And I have been looking forward to it, even if the thought of ninety-one overtures has, at times, felt a little immobilizing (and I’m not even on the Overtures Committee). But as good and necessary as that list may be, it is all too easy to get stuck in the rut of “getting things done” and forget that we are brothers together in what is, for most of us, among the most important work we do in this life. Can I compare it to the Larger Catechism? Let me try. Our Tuesday night men’s group recently completed a study of the whole Larger Catechism, and as we finished the questions on prayer (178-196) I was struck by the incredible focus on our attitude in prayer above the mechanics of prayer. Of course, there are mechanics. We pray to God, through Christ, by the help of the Holy Spirit. We pray for certain people and for certain things. We are taught how to use the Lord’s Prayer. We are instructed in the petitions, the preface, and the conclusion. But in all of that there is a greater concern for the heart. God is far more concerned with the posture of our hearts than with the polish of our words. (Go read those questions and you’ll see.) Psalm 51:16-17 says “For you will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it; you will not be pleased with a burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” That has me thinking about General Assembly. The mechanics matter. They really do. We need overtures. We need committees. We need recommendations. We need commissioners to study, speak, amend, object, vote, and sometimes even call the question. Presbyterianism is not less spiritual because it has a Book of Church Order and a docket. But the mechanics are not enough. A man can know the rules and still forget his brothers. He can give the right speech in the wrong spirit. He can be correct on the question and careless with his tongue. He can defend the purity of the church in a way that harms the peace of the church. He can win the vote and lose sight of the fruit of the Spirit. The posture of the court and its members matters. The men gathered at General Assembly are not merely votes, factions, blocs, influencers, committee members, church representatives, or names attached to floor speeches. We are elders in Christ’s church. We have been called to shepherd the flock of God. We have been entrusted with souls. We serve congregations with real sheep, real burdens, real sorrows, real controversies, real funerals, real hospital rooms, real joys, and real labors. This changes (or ought to change) the way we speak to one another. It should change the way we speak about one another. It should change the way we listen, the way we disagree, the way we evaluate motives, and the way we respond when the vote does not go our way. It is easy, especially in the weeks before Assembly, to think mainly in terms of “our side” and “their side.” Overtures are analyzed and arguments are formed. There is a proper place for preparation and conviction and disagreement. But there is also a danger. The danger is that we begin to treat fellow elders as obstacles to be overcome rather than brothers to be loved. We assume the worst possible motives. We assign the worst possible meaning to words. We turn men into symbols of everything we fear. We begin to speak of elders for whom Christ died as though they are problems to be managed. Surely, we can contend without contempt. An elder may be mistaken without being malicious. A brother may vote differently without being faithless. A commissioner may speak strongly without being an enemy. We should be able to disagree plainly, even sharply when necessary, while still refusing to surrender the charity that belongs among brothers. The ninth commandment does not get suspended during debate. The second great commandment is not paused during parliamentary inquiry. The qualifications for elder do not disappear when we enter the convention hall. We are still called to be gentle, respectable, sober-minded, self-controlled, not quarrelsome, hospitable, and able to teach. And we are still called to love one another with brotherly affection. Of course, whenever someone calls for collegiality, someone else will wonder if that is just a softer word for compromise. It is not. The church needs elders who are willing to speak clearly. We need men who will guard doctrine, uphold our Constitution, protect the sheep, and resist error. We need commissioners who come prepared, who understand the issues, and who are willing to vote according to conscience before God. But we also need elders who remember what sort of men they are called to be while they do it. A call to brotherly collegiality is not a call to care less about truth. It is a call to care enough about truth that our conduct is governed by it. If the Lord cares about the posture of our hearts when we pray, surely He cares about the posture of our hearts when we deliberate. If He is not impressed by polished words offered from a proud heart, surely He is not impressed by theological precision offered without love. We cannot separate the work from the spirit of the work. The General Assembly is not a secular legislature baptized with many pre-report prayers. It is not merely a place to gather votes and defeat opponents. It is an assembly of Christ’s under-shepherds seeking, however imperfectly, to serve the peace and purity of His church according to His Word. The manner of our work is part of the work. Many of us arrive at General Assembly having already experienced a version of it online. We have read posts, threads, articles, comments, predictions, concerns, warnings, replies, and replies to the replies. Some of that is helpful. Much of it is not. Online debate rewards speed, suspicion, sarcasm, and certainty. It encourages us to flatten people into positions and positions into slogans. It trains us to perform for those who already agree with us. It tempts us to speak about brothers in ways we should be ashamed to speak to them. The Assembly ought to be different. Face-to-face fellowship has a way of chastening our worst instincts. It reminds us that the church is not an abstraction. These are men with congregations, families, weaknesses, burdens, and love for Christ. As we head to Assembly, here are a few simple commitments that would serve us well. - Speak of other elders as brothers, not as enemies. - Argue against positions without imputing motives unnecessarily. - Do not confuse courage with harshness. - Be willing to lose a vote without becoming cynical. - Be willing to win a vote without becoming proud. - Remember that the men across the aisle from you are not the world, the flesh, or the devil. - Pray before you speak. - Look for opportunities to encourage younger elders, first-time commissioners, and men who feel out of place. - And when debate is over, do not forget fellowship. General Assembly will have moments of tension. It always does. There will be serious matters before us. There always are. But the seriousness of the work should make us more prayerful, not more suspicious; more careful, not more combative; more brotherly, not less. pulpitmatters.com/p/the-post…