Why I Don’t Fear Denominational Schisms

IN THE DECADES before the Civil War, three of the nation’s largest Protestant denominations—Baptists, Presbyterians, and Methodists—split over slavery, biblical interpretation, and abolition. Historians have long claimed that these denominational schisms paved the way for a national rift. Once these Protestant churches failed to hold together, breaking into regional bodies of South and North, wrote C.C. Goen in Broken Churches, Broken Nation, “a major bond of national unity” dissolved and hastened America’s warring fate.

As the churches divided over slavery then, so they are dividing over sexuality and gender now. Many of the biblical arguments and hermeneutic approaches once used to support slavery are now employed to reject the humanity, gifts, and dignity of women and LGBTQ persons. If you read 19th century sermons or tracts from Southern Presbyterians, for example, you only need to swap out a few words and you have a blog about how the Bible doesn’t allow women to preach or gay and lesbian couples to marry. Mark Twain once quipped that history doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme. In this case, however, the similarities are so striking that history appears to plagiarize itself.

In recent years, Episcopalians, Lutherans, and Presbyterians have all faced contentious splits over these issues, and now the United Methodist Church—the largest mainline Protestant denomination—is struggling with the same.

History may plagiarize, but it will not repeat. These denominations aren’t as significant as they once were, culturally or politically. The Baptists not only split over slavery but remained permanently divided in Northern and Southern branches, then divided and divided again. The Methodists reunited in the 20th century, as did the Presbyterians. But for all their remarkable contributions, neither denomination regained its former status.

In the 19th century, the Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians were more than denominations—they were culture-making institutions. Their churches were the largest. They influenced the media through sermons and publishing houses. They sponsored almost all college and graduate education. Church arguments were political arguments and vice versa. When these major denominations failed to maintain unity during the crisis over slavery, it was, indeed, a sign of inevitable political collapse.

This history still haunts contemporary church leaders—but it’s time to hear some difficult truths.

First, no denomination—not even the mighty Southern Baptist Convention—is a culture-making institution. None. Almost all are losing members and influence and occupy a more marginal social space than they once did. The people who care about denominational politics are mainly people in the denomination. The media only cares about big, ugly church fights because church fights still sell. They make religion look bad and reinforce the idea that church people are narrow-minded, bigoted, and self-righteous. Church bodies need to make choices knowing that we live in a pluralistic nation, religion doesn’t have the cultural sway it once did, and working from the margins isn’t a bad thing.

Second, sometimes unity is worse than splitting. In the 19th century, unity came at a huge price: a failure to address the most pressing political issues of the day. Sure, the Episcopal Church never split (at least until the war began), but it also never addressed its complicity in slavery as the church of the planter class in the American South. To their credit, Episcopalians learned from experience and tackled LGBTQ ordination nearly 20 years ago. The denomination suffered schism because of it. In one century, the Episcopal Church maintained unity at a high cost; in the next, it found that parting ways over an intractable theological issue released creativity that made risk-taking for the gospel easier.

The historical lesson that emerges is surprising. Denominational battles won’t lead to a national sundering. I doubt they’ll even add to our already present political divides. Theological arguments don’t have the sweeping cultural power they once did, nor is the Bible central to the way that most people make partisan decisions. The U.S. is a very different place than it was 175 years ago. Denominations are one more group of traditional institutions under stress in a changing world.

Right now, churches aren’t making decisions that will matter to the American future, but they are making decisions that will affect the future of millions of Americans. If the nation’s denominations split over sexuality or gender, it won’t mean much to our political life—but if churches split for the sake of loving our neighbors and practicing grace, hospitality, and mercy in ways that speak with power to those who have been betrayed, shamed, and marginalized, then they will be on a path into a life-giving future.

Faith is just that—faith. We can’t predict what will happen, not even if we know history well. Faith is always an unexpected journey. This isn’t the time to be afraid.