All I could say to myself was, “Why would people want to prevent others from making promises to God and others?”
In 2020, a “certificate of fitness” for ministry (a requirement for ordination in my denomination, the Reformed Church in America, RCA) was withheld from me by several leaders at my seminary, all because I’m gay and was dating the man I would later marry.
The President of the seminary board and the General Secretary of my denomination wrote letters that instilled fear around the church-political dynamics of the denomination’s General Synod. One letter asserted that the Board was bound by the ethics papers of past General Synods, but oddly only those which related to human sexuality. Their language was cautious, probably reviewed by legal counsel.
Amongst all these power-dynamics, all I could say to myself was, “Why would people want to prevent others from making promises to God and others?”
I began to notice that ordination to the office of minister of Word and sacrament wasn’t the only area where queer people were being barred from making promises. Similar barriers were present for other church offices—elder, deacon, General Synod professor.
And then there’s marriage. God forbid people make promises of love and faithfulness to one another before God and their loved ones. Dare I bring up someone who has transitioned and wants to be baptized, or the queer married couple who wants to participate in communion?
Apparently, this kind of promise-making just isn’t for queer folks and their allies.
What is it about these queer promises that stir all this anxiety and backlash? Well, promises wield a certain power, and church conflicts usually center around power dynamics.
My Hebrew professor often quoted Abraham Joshua Heschel, “Words create worlds.” We certainly see it all throughout scripture. From the words that created creation to the Word that became flesh, words create worlds.
Yet, I’d add that the words of promises are the foundational components to the worlds that words create. Promises are the supernovae of world-creation, bursting forth with the essential elements needed to forge new realities. If words have the power to create worlds, promises have the power of miracles—not even death itself can overcome God’s promise to us, “All who see the Son and believe in him may have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day” (John 6:40).
Historically, I’d argue that the sheer power and immense consequences of promises are why the Dutch Reformed tradition in North America has struggled historically with interpreting and applying Jesus’ teachings on oaths and words (Matthew 5:33-37; Matthew 23:16-22). One way to understand the 1857 split between the Reformed Church in America and the Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRCNA) is through some serious disagreement over the meaning of oath-taking. Some believed that oaths should be reserved for religious settings, or perhaps for allegiance to a government or constitution. But ministers swearing oaths to become Freemasons? Apparently, Freemasons made queer promises, too,
Today, we’re yet again in a debate about promises. I know there are many in the RCA and CRCNA who now find themselves in a queer, narrow place where they’re being forced to make and keep promises at a serious cost. What do we do when institutions and people of power set forth words that seemingly prevent us from making promises to God and others? We make the promises anyway.
These institutions are descending into what I regularly describe as church-blight. But the words and promises that make worlds and life, they have resurrection power! Don’t be deceived: the power of these promises cannot be barred from you or your church bodies—consistories, councils, classes, synods. Profess them. Preach them. Live them anyway.
That’s precisely what the Classis of Schenectady did for me and my ordination: we made the promises anyway. In 2021, the classis members ordained me, despite some in the RCA saying such promises couldn’t be made. I now serve as a minister of Word and sacrament, regularly living up to and falling short of the promises I made. But I have to say, I couldn’t have imagined this new, wonderful and complex world that was created for me to inhabit. I don’t regret the promises we made, and I’m sure you won’t either. Make the promises anyway.
Handshake photo by Tim Samuel on Pexels.com
Padlock photo by Griffin Wooldridge on Pexels.com
Thank you for this Trey. As the first woman to be taken under care and ordained by the Classis of Passaic, I understand the power of a promise that I made in 1985, over the objection of some. Oh when will we learn that every child of God has been made for a purpose, and as the church we are called to support their fulfilling of that call.
Teach us, Lord!
Thank you for being a “first,” Jill.
First, blessings on you, your life and your ministry!
As a historian, however, my interest is more in the way the narrative here is shaped by larger historical themes–and what consequences understanding the work of the church within the context of those larger themes has–than I am in the substantive doctrinal and practical issues involved. That’s a fancy way of saying I’m trying to stay in my lane.
The larger theme is a familiar one: “institutions and people of power set forth words” that prevent individuals from obeying their own conscience. It conjures iconic modern images: Martin Luther before the pope (“Here I stand, I can do no other!”), Patrick Henry (“Give me liberty or give me death!”), Luke Skywalker versus Darth Vader.
We know what the script requires: The individual follows their conscience and defies the institution and powers. “We make the promises anyway.”
So far, so good, as far as the essential modern narrative is concerned. But then things get more ambitious: “These institutions are descending into what I regularly describe as church-blight. But the words and promises that make worlds and life, they have resurrection power!”
The institution concerned is repressing life, the individual following their own judgment accomplishes “resurrection.”
I don’t want to belabor the point, and (again, as a mere historian) it’s beyond my competence to pronounce on what theological work the marshalling of these specific images and metaphors (if that’s what they are) is doing. We should, however, be aware that that work is being done in ways we’re not always necessarily aware of, and it would be good to pay attention to the process. Worlds are, indeed, being created as we advocate for and explain the ways we navigate the questions of justice, equality, and self-realization that preoccupy our current moment.
I read your article, Trey, as a lifelong member of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. In 2009 we voted by 2/3 majority to allow gay pastors in a monogamous relationships to be ordained. Prior to that gay pastors had an “ Irregular” ordination and churches called them under threat of being removed from ELCA. Hopefully some day RCA can do likewise. It has enriched our church. That does not mean that all churches will call LGBTQ.
Thank you Trey, Queer is a five letter word, so is brave. I prefer it, and you are.
Trey, I have told you this fsce-to-face, and feel moved to say it here in this online community of people with ties to the Reformed tradition. Your gifts and call to ministry have been abundantly clear to me in several settings since I first had the privilege of meeting you: your courageous and winsome integrity at a meeting of RCA folk (including us old-guard types) trying to figure out next steps for the denomination while you were still in seminary; in your biblically and theologically grounded preaching, in your compassionate leadership and prayers at funerals and graveside commitals, in your pastoral presence at Communion, in your commitment to social justice, and yes, in your willingness to listen and engage in conversations about my own struggles to believe. Not only I, but the church, and dare I say the world, are better because you made the promises anyway.
Thank you for sharing your story. Part way through, my heart was breaking because I thought you were going to be barred from ordination. But then my heart soared as I got closer to the ending. I am so thankful to the classis that embraced you and made it possible for you to live out your calling. And what a testimony to your gifts Marilyn Paarlberg gives! May you continue to be blessed in your ministry.
Thank you!!! God Almighty who is witness to your promise to each other and to your ministry will see both blossom!
Your story gives me hope for our future. Thank you for sharing it!