My First Methodist Conference
answering a call from sixty years ago
All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again.
Often attributed to J.M. Barrie, an anonymous Disney writer added this line to the 1953 animated version of Peter Pan. Writers for the 2004 reboot of Battlestar Galactica recognized this as a prophecy, and like all prophecies, it contained both a promise and a warning.
All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again.
After six decades as a member of the United Methodist Church, I decided the time had come for me to attend my first conference. My Methodism actually predates the “United” part, which was added in 1968. Methodism has a very democratic political structure. We have bishops, but the conference is the seat of the church. Wesley believed the conference of the church would “reveal God’s will.”
In the past, I always assumed that since the United Methodist Church had the services of my Uncle, my Grandfather, my Father, my Grandmother, my Mother, and my Sister unless they needed to move something really heavy, they didn’t seem like they’d have much use for me. That was until my mother got involved in the Stewpot and found many, many uses for my ability to lift heavy things.
However strong I was in my youth, in my years of white hair, I’m sometimes physically as weak as I was when I was just nine. When I was young and strong, I felt in my heart that the church just didn’t need me, but now that I’m old, now that my body is broken, I feel the call to make my support of the church as known as possible. My body is broken, but my heart is afire.
Methodists, it seems, have never followed an easy path. In the year I was born, the Mississippi Methodist Conference chose to rend itself into pieces based on questions of who to open its doors to and who counts as equal in the eyes of the Lord.
Seventeen days before I was born, the Mississippi Methodist Conference severed ties with the young Rev. Ed King. King believed in an open and loving Methodism and chose to fight for it. He chose to fight for the integration of Mississippi churches, even though nearly every white congregation in Mississippi was against it.
Six days before I was born, my family’s church, Galloway Memorial United Methodist Church, turned away students from Tougaloo College when they tried to attend a Sunday Service. Whatever Galloway's ministry felt about the issue, Galloway's lay leadership was not yet ready to open its doors.
The Mississippi Methodist Conference believed that their policy of not opening the doors of the church to a different kind of people was more important than communion with an energetic young minister, so they cast him aside and cut ties with Ed King. That casting aside would become important later. It happened again to someone new.
Two days after I was born, some men tried to frighten Rev. Ed King away from his chosen path and nearly killed him. No plastic surgeon in Jackson would treat King, so he wore the scars of this encounter on his face for the rest of his life.
Fifteen days after I was born, Dr. W. F. Selah, the head minister at Galloway, resigned rather than turn away anyone trying to join our services. What was happening at the doors of our church, what was happening to our young ministers, was causing him to have a crisis of faith, and he chose to walk away from a pulpit because of a moral conflict between what he believed God wanted and what the Lay Leadership of Galloway insisted on. Looking back on the tempest happening in the world around my mother while she was expecting my imminent birth makes me sad for her.
In the five years that followed, The Mississippi Methodist Conference saw scores of churches and members choosing to disaffiliate rather than broaden their interpretation of an equal Christian. The church in Hesterville, Mississippi, where my Grandfather was baptized, a church his father helped build, removed itself from the Mississippi Methodist Conference rather than integrate.
His new church, at Galloway, chose to remain as part of the Methodist Conference and integrate its congregation, even though the struggle for this decision caused a division between the congregants and the new minister, WJ Cunningham, ending with the lay leadership asking the Bishop for a new assignment to our pulpit. In the decade following, Cunningham recorded his experiences in a book titled “Agony at Galloway.” In 1968, the different conferences of the Methodist Church joined together and became the United Methodist Church, and began a period of marked growth and reconciliation.
Every year, in the hot summer, my family would make the long drive from Jackson to Kosciusko for homecoming at Bethel Church. When he thought I was old enough, my Grandfather explained why Bethel, where he was baptized, differed from Galloway, where my family and I held our membership, and what he thought of it.
My father tried to soften the blow of what my grandfather was saying. Children who stutter are often considered timid and sensitive. In my case, none of that is true; I just don’t like talking to people. I am sensitive, but I’m also resilient. Believing I was a broken child, my father often sought to protect me from the painful bits of life, including the struggles of the Methodist Church.
My grandfather, on the other hand, explained honestly and plainly that some of the people at his old church were unwilling to let go of their racism. He also explained honestly and plainly that Galloway once had the same problem but chose to let go of it, even though it cost us.
This year, the United Methodist Mississippi Conference was held at Millsaps College, a place I’m intimately familiar with. The theme of this year’s conference is “Reignighting Our Identity.” When I saw that, I thought it boldly addressed what happened in the United Methodist Church in the last few years and what’s still happening now.
The question of whether or not people living an openly homosexual lifestyle are equal to everyone else in the eyes of the church split the church, much like questions of whether non-white people were equal to everyone else in the eyes of the church split us sixty years ago.
Last year, when I was recovering from a life-threatening illness, news reached me that two young ministers who had been associated with Millsaps College, Rev. Elizabeth Davidson and Rev. Paige Swaim-Presley, were in very serious trouble with the Mississippi Conference of the United Methodist Church because they chose to perform a marriage of non-binary people.
My first thought was, “This has happened before.” Young ministers risking their credentials to do what they believe God led them to do rather than obeying the rules written by men reminded me of what happened to Ed King sixty years before.
Researching the subject further, I learned that the United Methodist Church—my church, was again rending itself into pieces over questions of who we embrace as equals. When I was a child, it was a question of race; now that I am a man, it is a question of sexuality.
Many people will say that the two issues are different. From my perspective, they are the same. Questions of identity shouldn’t matter before the seat of God. I believe that, to God, there is no sexuality, there is no race, and there is no gender. There is only love and loss. Closing the door of the church to anyone, for any reason, is only a loss. There is no love in it. There is no gain in it.
Despite what happened in the sixties, the United Methodist Church saw unprecedented growth and prosperity in the seventies, eighties, and nineties. Predictions that we would never survive the schism over racial integration proved the exact opposite of what actually happened with Mississippi members of the United Methodist Conference.
My church grew from an old church building and a chapel to an entire city block. Galloway became so successful that I felt there was very little I could do to contribute there. I didn’t consider that these things might be a question of time. The time had not yet come when I felt the call to join in with and contribute to my church.
Usually, when Christians want to make ethical choices, they pray about them. I’m not very good at praying for help. I pray to say thanks for things, but that’s about it. Fortunately, God has been very good at providing me with the lessons I need to understand his will.
God knew that I would one day take a side in this issue when he made me aware that there were important people in my life to whom I would have to say, “I’m sorry, but my faith says you’re not as good as I am,” if I didn’t make the right decision on this issue.
Many people believe exactly the opposite of me. They believe God compels them to reject anyone with a sexuality different from theirs. I taught myself to argue against their position using ancient linguistics and logical arguments, but I soon found out that no matter how impeccable or researched my argument was, unless they were willing to accept people in their own hearts, I would not change their minds with logos, just like they would not change mine.
We are creatures that survive by cooperation, yet, for some reason, we work to find ways to exclude people. I suspect knowing that, no matter what we accomplish, we’ll never escape death makes us hold onto the fallacy that there’s something about us as individuals that’s better than all the other filthy mortals we see around us.
Driving onto the Millsaps campus, I noticed every parking space on the north side was taken. The security guard stopped my Uber and told us that the parking under the Academic Complex was also full, but parking between the Christian Center and West Street may still be available.
Going into what we used to call the PAC, but is now called the “Hangar Dome,” the first face I see is Brad Chism. Regarding the practicality and morality of Mississippi Politics, I’ve always seen Brad as something of a bellwether. Knowing that his hands were on some of the sailing lines here gave me confidence. Brad may not always be on the winning side, but he’s almost always on the right side.
Like most conventions, the conference greets visitors with rows of tables selling wares, financial instruments, software, and, in particular, points of view.
Scrolling down the rows of the tables, you’d be surprised how much convention swag United Methodists produce. There were at least three different types of printed tote bags for the taking. I picked up a really cool printed flashlight at the table for the Methodist Foundation of Mississippi. Slightly over three inches long, you’d be surprised how much light it puts out—for free!
One table caught my eye. It featured the ubiquitous flame symbol of the United Methodist Church but remade in rainbow colors. The table for Reconciling Ministries seemed to me might be the most important member of the convention. The United Methodist Church has officially begun the long journey of reconciliation between itself and the children the church cast off long ago.
Connie and Joey Shelton were co-ministers at Galloway for many years. Since then, she’s been elected Bishop of the Southeastern Jurisdictional Conference, but they came to Jackson for the Mississippi Conference. It gave me confidence and warmed my heart to see them at the conference. Connie almost apologized for the conference's smaller size.
Having never been to a Mississippi Conference before all the disaffiliations that happened the past few years, I didn’t know what it was like when there was a bigger conference. My primary concern, the reason I chose to go at all, was to see how many people were at this conference and whether there were enough to accomplish what I thought the United Methodist Church should accomplish in the coming years, and in that, I was well pleased. More than enough people were at this year’s conference to accomplish great things.
Ultimately, I can’t change the heart of anyone who doesn’t want to open the doors of their church or wants to keep certain people out of certain positions in the church. I can say that, at my church, we don’t do that. In my life, I don’t do that. If you are seeking God’s love, then we are seeking you.
Sometimes, a lot of background noise will make my ADHD go haywire. When the noise of the crowd started to get to me, I moved to the crowd’s periphery, a position where I could look in and try to understand it from that angle.
The Millsaps Football Booster Club sold pulled pork sandwiches, popcorn, coffee, and Cokes. I paid five dollars for a three-dollar cup of coffee because “Go, Majors!”
Noticing Susannah Grubbs-Carr wearing her purple and white Millsaps Logo shirt and all the Millsaps basketball championship banners hanging in the PAC, I felt like I belonged.
Susannah is moving from Galloway to Wells United Methodist Church. Historically, Wells is one of the most influential churches in the Mississippi Conference. An energetic young minister named Keith Tonkel made it so when I was a child. The table for the Reconciling Ministries was manned by members of Wells. Galloway’s loss is Wells’s gain. Considering Wells's place in the conference’s history, I feel like they’re in very good hands. I’m excited to see what she can produce from that pulpit.
Knowing of our conflict, people who aren’t Methodists are asking what the future holds for the United Methodist Church. I believe the key to our future is our past. We will answer the important questions with tough solutions, even painful ones. We will do what is right, not what is convenient or expedient. We will work to expand the love of God, not restrict it, even if we have to fight to do it.
The Mississippi Conference of the United Methodist Church is reigniting its identity and rebuilding its numbers. Spreading the love of God on earth can be a struggle. I don’t think we can end conflicts in the church, not even for the space of one lifetime, clearly not in mine. Experiencing the love of God is sometimes painful and challenging, but it’s worth it. All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again.
