By Dawn Adamy

This is a hard thing to admit, especially for a moderator, but for some time in my early ministry, I wasn’t a fan of Robert’s Rules of Order. I often wondered if parliamentary procedure was helpful in a church context; the rules felt rigid — even unkind at times. When Maureen asked me to write something for the newsletter while she was away, I accepted without knowing what on earth I would write. As I prayed over what I might share, I found myself going back to a time in my ministry when our parliamentary procedures were put to the test and why I came away from a difficult chapter in my ministry with a deeper appreciation for following parliamentary procedure than I had held previously.

In 2015, I was in the second year of serving as a part-time transitional pastor for a church that a few years before had celebrated its Jubilee Anniversary. Planted in a once-rural community that was becoming a sprawling suburban township, in those fifty years they enjoyed a membership that rose as high as 120, with a vibrant Sunday School and confirmation classes of 10-20 participants. They had a commitment to their local community as well as global missions. The church held many picnics and outdoor events on their expansive lawn, and in recent years, had even started a popular community garden. They opened their small building on weekday evenings to provide meeting space to several AA and NA groups, as well as a day program for adults with developmental disabilities. They accomplished all of this while worshipping in a modest-sized hall that was part of what was intended to serve as their fellowship and education building — a 40’x40’ flat-roofed structure with a small kitchen and basement. Using that worship space was always meant to be temporary. From the date of their charter, they had dreamed of building a beautiful sanctuary on the 8-acre lot that was part of the original parcel of land acquired by the church.

Eventually the founding members of that congregation retired, and many of their grown children and grandchildren moved to other communities. While the congregation experienced growth beyond those founding families, by the early 2000s, participation and financial giving was a fraction of what it had been at the peak of the church’s life. Never having raised the needed funds to build a sanctuary, they remained in the “temporary” building, which began requiring costly repairs and upkeep. The few active members of the congregation had less time and energy to devote to sustaining the existing ministries, much less to dreaming new dreams. They were tired.

Hope came in the form of a vibrant, growing immigrant congregation of the same presbytery, who had been renting space from another church and who had the means and desire to purchase a building they could renovate for the needs of their ever-expanding congregation. Our COM and presbytery staff facilitated conversations between our session and theirs, followed by gatherings with members of both congregations. Despite the challenges of such major changes for both churches, it became apparent to almost everyone involved that it would be in the best interest of both congregations if our church transferred our property, for a nominal price, to this sister congregation so that both our communities could continue to flourish: the immigrant church could continue to grow their multiple worship services and fellowship, and our aging congregation could continue to worship in the building on Sunday mornings without the burden of repairs and maintenance. It seemed a God-given gift, and folks in both congregations began to get excited about the possibilities.

I say, “almost” because there were a handful of founding members who were resistant to giving up the building, especially Joe. Joe had been part of a dedicated group of men (in their 30s and 40s at the time) who had dug the holes, placed the footings, and laid the cinderblocks for the structure in which his family and friends had gathered for so many decades. He and a few widows were the last of their generation who still worshipped in that space, most of their fellow founding members having gone on to the Church Triumphant. Now in his 90s, Joe and a few elderly women were the only ones left who remembered the original vision that had guided their congregation for so long. Letting go of the building felt like, at best, giving up, and at worst, betraying their many family and friends who had been a part of that original dream but were no longer present to fight for it.

The date for the congregational meeting to approve the sale of the property was set, with our presbytery moderator agreeing to moderate so that I could be there only to provide pastoral support for the congregation — a decision for which I was deeply grateful.

The meeting was called to order with prayer. When the motion was made and seconded, Joe’s was the first hand up. The moderator recognized him, and as expected, his voice shaking with emotion, Joe spoke against the motion, basing his opposition on the low sale price and taking his full allotment of time to do so. When Joe sat down, the moderator asked if there was anyone to speak for the motion. After a few seconds, our treasurer, Charlie, was recognized and stated his support for the sale, explaining that the church simply did not have the funds to care for the property and that at least with this transfer, it would be going to another Presbyterian church. The moderator asked if anyone else wanted to speak against the motion. A long pause. Then another founding member tentatively raised her hand. After she spoke against the motion, another member spoke in favor of it. This continued, with Joe raising his hand and being recognized for the second and final time before the question was called and debate ended. In total, there had been three who spoke against the motion and three who spoke for the motion. But when the paper ballots were counted, there were 26 Yes’s and only 3 No’s. The sale was approved.

Even though the motion was carried by a landslide, the minority had been given equal voice to the majority — a reality I hadn’t understood, until that moment, as being an expression of grace. It had been difficult for those who spoke in favor of the sale because every person in that room loved and respected Joe; the process allowed them to voice their thoughts in a way they could not as easily express to these founding members directly. Again, grace. Once the ballots were counted and the results announced, the minority could see just how strong the sentiment was on the opposing side — an insight they couldn’t fully comprehend until the majority spoke with their votes.

As the meeting was adjourned and the moderator prayed, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I needn’t have worried though, for as I raised my head at the “Amen,” I saw Joe cross the aisle and shake Charlie’s hand, then the two men embraced. Others in the room were also reaching out to one another; there were smiles and hugs — the tension being released like air out of a balloon. God had been there the whole time — how silly of me to have doubted. In that moment, I understood how “decently and in order” work: we cannot have order if we are not decent to one another, and we cannot be decent to one another unless there is an orderly structure that can hold the tension we inevitably feel when we do not agree. In this way, our sometimes-stodgy parliamentary procedure makes grace and kindness possible, even in the most emotionally fraught circumstances. To that, all I can say is, “Thanks be to God!”

As a presbytery and as a denomination, we are facing some pretty challenging realities — realities that will ask us to make some difficult decisions together. We will not always agree, but I hope we will trust in our processes, born of the wisdom of generations who came before us, that in the end, God is always in the room, and in honest sharing and gracious listening, we will find our way together.