My hope for United Methodism

I was asked some months ago to write a blog as part of a series entitled “My hope for United Methodism.”  It first appeared on UM & Global’s site, but UM Insight picked it up as well.  

“Now the Passover of the Jews was near, and many went up from the country to Jerusalem… They looked for Jesus and said to one another as they were in the temple area, “What do you think?  That he will not come to the feast?”  John 11:55-57

The Scripture text above for the day before Palm Sunday ends with a question: Will Jesus show up?  It is a question many people in the United Methodist Church are asking – sometimes with anguish in their hearts, yearning for renewal.  At our best, I think we ask this question not with anxious handwringing but with what Cornel West calls a “blues sensibility” sort of faith.  Our eyes are wide open to the problems in our church and world, but we have faith that Jesus will always show up.  It is the faith and love of Jesus working out in our lives that moves us with hope and a persistent unconditional love for others.  At our best we sing with the pathos of a famous African American spiritual as our model, yearning for the “City Called Heaven.”  It is that ultimate hope expressed with the grit of a blues artist that I pray will animate our life together as United Methodists in the years to come.

Where do I see this happening?  What gives me this kind of gritty hope for the UMC?  I have two stories.

Just before Holy Week I gathered with fourteen people in Portland, Oregon in order to encourage one another in our experiments of living in intentional Christian communities.  Most were folks from Portland, but I drove an hour with my housemate and Romanian missionary friend, David, to see what this might be.  I knew some friends would be there who went through Missional Wisdom training and prayerful retreats with me, but the circle was wider than that with people who have been experimenting for less than a year to one man who had lived in an intentional Christian community for 33 years.  I went to this gathering because I’ll be serving as a faculty mentor next year for two residential houses of university students who want to explore in practical ways what it means to live a deeper life of Christian fellowship that they have been reading about in the “great books” honors program I also teach in.  I need help to dream what those houses could be so that my prayers would not be too small.  Small prayers are a problem for many of us.  On my drive home with David last night we spoke about what we experienced in that Portland living room with other disciples of Jesus.  There were deep wells of wisdom there, experiences of desert wandering, and also a spirit of holy experimentation.  It is the willingness to experiment and yearning to keep re-envisioning church that gives me hope for United Methodism.

My second story is a tad less contemporary.  I’m a historian of the missionary movement, and one of my current projects is to examine one of the earliest and exuberantly hopeful missionary endeavors of American Methodists.  No other missionary venture of early American Methodists more fired the imagination than the mission to share the Gospel of Jesus with Native Americans in Oregon.  Big dreams of mass conversions of thousands of eager Native Americans (whom Methodist missionaries barely knew anything about) were quickly met with discouragement in the years after missionary arrival in Oregon in 1834.  Instead of thousands yearning to become Christians they instead encountered thousands of people being decimated by diseases that had had been transmitted to the region earlier via trading ships.

The Methodist missionaries persisted in Oregon but perhaps the best missionary of the bunch, Henry Kirk White Perkins, has barely been recognized in Methodist mission histories.  His journals reveal that he was probably the leading missionary linguist in the denomination at the time; he translated a good chunk of the New Testament into Sahaptin, a language of eastern Washington.  He was also a man with a heart full of love for others and a belief that the Gospel truly can transform lives.

In a letter to his friend, Daniel Lee, he relays stories of a revival that took place at the Willamette Mission – a few miles south of where I now live – during a few days surrounding a Watch Night service in January of 1839.  Perkins tells stories of the conversion of a half dozen Native Americans.  Most were older children in the school the Methodists were running along with some adults and children of white settlers.  He was especially moved by the emotional conversion of two Native American women – both named Mary.  Mary Sargent had been converted the day before.  She was friends with Mary Hauxhurst who was married to a white settler.  As Perkins tells the story, “Mary S. arose and with joy beaming in her countenance, went and threw her arms around the neck of her friend, [Mary Hauxhurst] and they wept, and prayed together…O, thought I, this, this is religion, and religion is love. God beheld the sight, and he wiped their tears away, and in a few moments they were praising God together.”

At first glance this is not a particularly unusual conversion story.  What makes it noteworthy to me is that it is the first conversion story in Oregon where – at least in the way Perkins tells it – the missionary seems to be more of an observer to one Native American woman introducing another to the saving love of Jesus.  Perkins, it seems, trusted that what was happening to these two women was of God even though so much of their history and culture was unknown to him.  It would still be over a year before he could preach in any language other than a rudimentary trade language the local people used.

This story that Perkins tells illustrates a hope I have for United Methodism in that we too will learn to trust one another across cultural and linguistic barriers.  Perkins made plenty of mistakes in his work, to be sure, but as I have read his journals I am struck by his openness toward Native American cultural practices that were foreign to him.  As he painstakingly translated Scripture day after day he was also willing to question his assumptions about how he interpreted the Bible.  He even wrote back home to ask a friend for help in thinking through some passages.  That letter home embodies another hope and gritty prayer I have for United Methodism – namely, that we would learn to be better friends and vulnerably ask for the help we need – from God and one another.  For where two or three are gathered… Jesus will most assuredly show up.

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Friendship as Incarnational Mission Practice

I wrote this blog a few months ago originally for the American Society of Missiology, a professional society of missiologists for whom I serve as chairperson of the Board of Publications.  I might as well put it here too!  

January 24, 2018

In less than six months we will gather for our ASM annual meeting to consider “interfaith friendship as incarnational mission practice.”  The past two Sundays three serendipitous events occurred which resonate for me with our ASM theme and make me anticipate our gathering even more!   To be clear, the stories I relate here are not about interfaith friendships, but they are about friendship in the midst of difference and thus illustrate the generative nature of the theme ASM President Dr. Bonnie Sue Lewis has chosen.

First, this past Sunday I preached at two congregations near my home.  This is not particularly unusual in itself.  It is something I do every month or two.  I preached on Mark 1:14-20; a few months ago I had written a short commentary on this text for the ASM “missional preacher” website.  But the day before I was to preach, I saw something new in the text that I hadn’t even mentioned in that commentary.  In Mark’s account of Jesus calling disciples by the Sea of Galilee, Jesus calls for three actions on the part of his disciples / eventual friends: Repent, believe, and follow.  I closed my message by lingering with my congregations on the priority Jesus placed on repentance.  Repentance is how our believing and following begins.  Perhaps that is especially the case in our interfaith friendships.  But surely not only there.

With my congregations I also spoke about another event that had occurred the previous week.  I had visited a Coptic Orthodox Church in Portland, Oregon (the only Coptic church in Oregon) with my class of undergraduate students studying the history of African Christianity.  In their ancient liturgy we heard the simple prayer, “Lord have mercy,” well over a dozen times.  I was reminded of the multiple layers of that simple prayer that simultaneously reminds us of our need to repent and the abundant grace and mercy that is poured out for us by our Lord Jesus Christ. While worshiping with these Coptic Christians I was also reminded of how little I pray for Christian sisters and brothers facing persecution in Egypt and elsewhere.  Lord have mercy, indeed!

My third serendipitous event occurred the evening after I had preached on the Gospel of Mark.  I went with a new friend to an evening service at a Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in a nearby town.  I am still somewhat new to the American West, so I decided several months ago that I needed to better understand the Mormon tradition in my new home.  As I climbed into my friend’s car that rainy evening, I asked again what this service was going to be about.  He said that he thought it was going to be “A kind of revival service.” He is always generous to find words within my own Protestant and Methodist tradition that make sense.  At the end of the service which was indeed “A kind of revival service,” one of the priests from the regional ministry area or “stake” came up to me and asked, with tears in his eyes, if he could give me a hug.  We had met just once before, but we had a meaningful conversation.  As we embraced he said, “Thank you for being so kind to us.”  I recall that I mumbled something along the lines of “But, of course, we’re supposed to love one another.”  He had previously told me of some hurtful encounters he had with evangelical Christians many years ago in our area.  I don’t yet know the history or current reality of Latter Day Saints – evangelical relations in my new home, but I know I need to learn.  I also don’t know what repentance would look like in this case, but if I am to follow Jesus more closely in my new home I need to open my heart in prayer about this. My friend’s tears and words of gratitude, it seems to me, can serve as a kind of icon for my prayers in the months to come.[1]

“Repent, believe, follow.” “Lord have mercy.”  “Thank you for being so kind to us.”  May these phrases resonate for you too in the days to come as we all look forward to our ASM meeting on “interfaith friendships” at St. Mary’s College in South Bend, Indiana. I’m looking forward to seeing you there!

[1] To be clear, I don’t see my relationships with LDS friends as an interfaith friendship.  The evangelical – LDS dialogue that has taken place for the past 20 years seems to mostly use the language of “heterodox Christian sect” as a descriptor of the Mormon tradition that LDS Christians themselves are comfortable with.  For now, so am I.


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Response to “Wonder, Love, and Praise: Sharing a Vision of the Church”

This post was originally written for the UM & Global website earlier in January of 2017.  Several other blogs responding to the draft form of this new proposed statement on United Methodist ecclesiology will be forthcoming as well on that blog.  


The United Methodist Committee on Faith and Order was established at the 2008 General Conference.  Shortly thereafter the Committee was asked to craft a study document on United Methodist ecclesiology.  The document, Wonder, Love, and Praise: Sharing a Vision of the Church (henceforth, WLP) was the result.  My blog post here is intended to promote reflection on this document in preparation for a revised version being brought before General Conference in 2020.

From the start WLP strikes a strongly ecumenical tone in its theological reflection on the mission and nature of the church.  It does so in a much more explicit way than the parallel studies on the Lord’s Supper and Baptism that the UMC has undertaken in recent years. This embrace of ecumenism finds its strongest expression in WLP in its use of the World Council of Churches document, The Church: Towards a Common Vision, (henceforth, Towards a Common Vision) as a key point of reference throughout.

I think, however, that the Committee on Faith and Order’s decision to work so closely with Towards a Common Vision was a mistake. This is not easy for me to say.  I participate in two national ecumenical consultations, and am currently working with others on a response paper to another WCC document for the National Council of Churches.  I am committed to this work.  And yet, I see two problems with WLP’s use of Towards a Common Vision.

First, by working so closely with Towards a Common Vision I believe that the Committee has unwittingly hurt the chances that this document, in its current form, will be received by the United Methodist Church in as deep and pervasive way as By Water and the Spirit and This Holy Mystery.  To be clear, I think that any study of ecclesiology would probably have a hard time being as well received as those documents on baptism and the Lord’s Supper.  Those studies focus on discrete Christian practices; a study on the mission and nature of the church is more abstract.

By using a WCC document as a primary reference point throughout the text it also causes its ecclesiological insights to be less accessible for United Methodist readers.  That is not to say that WLP is not Wesleyan in many of the good things it has to say.  I think, for example, that the three convictions of a UM ecclesiology outlined in the first section of the document, “Our Approach to an Understanding of the Church,” are excellent.  I also think that “communion ecclesiology” as it has taken shape over the past few decades in Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Anglican, and Methodist theological circles – and now in WLP – can be fruitful for United Methodist theological reflection.

My second reason for disagreeing with the Committee’s decision to work closely with Towards a Common Vision is because, in doing so, they actually engaged in too limited of an ecumenical conversation.  The WCC document Towards a Common Vision too frequently frames theological issues to be in line with Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Anglican, and Lutheran traditions.  A quick scan of the footnotes in Towards a Common Vision reveals this pretty clearly as does its attention to the issues of “apostolic succession” and a “ministry of primacy.”  These ecclesial communities are important, to be sure, but their vision of what Christian unity might be is different from my own and that of many other Wesleyans, Pentecostals, and United Methodists.  We are not in an “ecumenical winter” as the WLP and other commentators on “official ecumenism” have stated.[1]  Conversations across Christian traditions around the world are as robust now as they ever have been; the shape and goals of ecumenism, however, are surely changing.

I believe that at this point in our history as United Methodists it is better to pay more close attention to other Wesleyan denominations rather than those church traditions whose perspectives were most strongly represented in Towards a Common Vision.  This belief, at least in part, stems from a sense that for too many years we have too often downplayed (if not completely avoided) ecumenical conversations with our closest ecclesial relatives.  This should not come as much a surprise.  As in personal relationships, we sometimes avoid having deep conversations with folks to whom we are most closely related.

For the past four years I have been sent by the Council of Bishops to an annual meeting of the Wesleyan Holiness Connection Steering Committee.  It is comprised – in addition to the UMC –  of fifteen, mostly U.S.-based, Wesleyan and Pentecostal denominations, almost all of which are not formally a part of the National Council of Churches or the World Council of Churches. I wonder how those fifteen Wesleyan denominations (Church of the Nazarene, Salvation Army, Free Methodists, etc.) would respond to WLP. Surely they would desire that WLP be more explicit in thinking through the ways a Wesleyan vision of holiness is germane to our missional and ecclesiological self-understanding.  To be clear, attention to this theme of holiness is present in WLP, but it could be a lot stronger.

The authors of WLP rightly praised the insight of a teacher of mine, Professor Andrew F. Walls, who noted that the major challenge of the 21st century will be an ecumenical challenge – an ecumenism that is not so focused on denominational diversity but on the tremendous cultural diversity inherent in a Christian movement that has shifted dramatically to the global South over the past several decades.  What do United Methodists from outside the United States have to contribute to our understanding of the mission and nature of the church?  The Committee on Faith and Order doubtless worked hard to include these perspectives, but it is difficult to see in the document as it currently stands.  One way this might be expanded is by further exploring United Methodist images of the church noted in line 454 and following.  Some of those images might just surprise us!

Finally, and at the risk of drawing undue attention to my own work, I would encourage the Committee on Faith and Order to consider the work of Roman Catholic biblical scholar John N. Collins.  Over the past couple decades I have tried – without much success – to promote his pioneering research on the biblical term diakonia as a resource for United Methodist ecclesiological reflection.  His research was surprisingly overlooked in Towards a Common Vision as well.  In brief, Collins argues for a view of ministry where accountability and relational connection are highlighted far more than the “servant leadership” rhetoric of an earlier era.[2]

I agree with the WLP that the United Methodist Church needs a new vision for what it means to be church – to love as Jesus loved, to live as Jesus lived, and to walk as Jesus walked.  I feel this need deep in my bones. We have a story of “love divine all loves excelling” and we need our imaginations about the church to be as bold as that story of love.  I believe the Committee on Faith and Order agrees with me on this. It is not by accident that they entitled their study “Wonder, Love, and Praise.”  Let’s keep working on WLP to make it better.

[1] For a contrary view on the alleged “ecumenical winter” see, for example, the work of Dale T. Irvin including, most recently, his chapter in World Christianity: Perspectives and Insights: Essays in Honor of Peter C. Phan edited by Jonathan Y. Tan and Anh Q. Tran. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2016.

[2] See, for example, John N. Collins, “Ordained and Other Ministries: Making a Difference,” Ecclesiology 3, no. 1 (2006); Paula Gooder, “Diakonia in the New Testament: A Dialogue with John N. Collins,” Ecclesiology 3, no. 1 (2006).


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Trials of Ecumenism

This piece is also posted on the UM & Global blog.

Ecumenism is tough.  For people who have been involved in ecumenical conversations over many years this is an obvious insight.  Many Christians though have the impression that ecumenical dialogue or ecumenical cooperation is something that is easy – or at least should be.  The impatience some people and institutions exhibit with regard to building ecumenical relationships is partly based on this mistaken impression.

For the past five years I have served as one of the United Methodist delegates to the Faith and Order conversations of the National Council of Churches of Christ.  I have come to deeply value these conversations as I have also grown in my appreciation of ecumenism’s close tie to God’s mission in our world today.  That may be especially true for the people called Methodist.  The depth of Christian fellowship exhibited in early class and band meetings was not incidental to the missionary zeal Methodists felt in their bones. Those early class and band meetings drew people from a wide array of Christian backgrounds – from Quaker to Catholic – and you can be sure that this diversity of background in the Methodist movement caused plenty of challenges, both then and now.  (For a good reflection on this in light of United Methodism’s current challenges see Glen Alton Messer’s recent blog.)  Diversity of outlook and practices can also promote excellence in mission even if, in the process, working through our differences can also bring tremendous strain.

At our last National Council of Churches meeting in May I came to a new appreciation of that strain even as I hope it will eventually serve to strengthen our witness together going into the future.  The incident I bring up here certainly can help promote reflection about the interrelationship of mission and ecumenism, and it is for that purpose that I share it here.

Toward the end of our three-day May 2016 “Christian Unity Gathering” in Baltimore, Maryland an invitation was extended over a lunch meeting for people at this meeting to pose for a photograph around a banner that read “We stand by our Muslim neighbors.”  This photo invitation was born out of a desire of many (likely all) in our group to oppose the growing anti-Muslim sentiment in American society.  The vast majority of Muslims around the world are, of course, not terrorists, so sure, let’s have a picture in front of a banner.  Sound simple?  It wasn’t.

An Eastern Orthodox representative at this gathering voiced strong opposition to the idea of posing by a banner that expressed solidarity with Muslim neighbors.  He did not deny the reality of dangerous anti-Muslim sentiment in America, but he was also all too aware that in other parts of the world Muslim neighbors were killing Christian neighbors.  So many of these Christian neighbors are Eastern Orthodox. He would not be standing by any banner that afternoon.

In this moment of ecumenical conflict over lunch all of us in the room realized in a new way that to stand by a banner that read, “We support our Muslim neighbors” raised difficult questions we needed to work through.  Around my little table of eight I spoke out loud a question I was repeating in my mind: “Who is my neighbor?”  It was something I practically murmured under my breath, but a chance lull in the conversation was such that it was heard by everyone.  In the Gospel of Luke, chapter 10, the question is posed by a young lawyer in order to “score points” in a debate against Jesus.  My question, I hoped, was more genuine.

The questions kept emerging in my mind and those of my friends around the table as we contemplated what we would do when picture-taking time came later in the afternoon.  “What does it mean to ‘stand by’ a neighbor when another neighbor of like religious faith in a different place is killing other neighbors?”  “Can I so simply make a distinction between American Muslim neighbors and Muslims and Christian neighbors in Syria or Pakistan?”  “Should I instead stand by my Eastern Orthodox neighbors who were refusing to be in this photograph?  If so, why would I do that?”  Was the decision to have this picture be taken made in the right way?  If not, why not?  How will the picture be used?  How will it be interpreted by others?

Again, ecumenism is tough.  What would you do?  As for me, I chose to join the dozen or so people who refused to be in the picture.  I did so for several reasons but mostly because I believed my most immediate neighbor at that gathering whom I needed to build a stronger relationship with were my Eastern Orthodox brothers in Christ.  Indeed, I had a meaningful conversation with a fellow deacon (from the Orthodox Church of America) during the picture-taking session as we chatted in the hallway outside the hotel banquet room.  Most of the people gathered at this event posed with the banner for a photograph.  I look forward to further conversations with them at our next meeting about why their no less prayerful decision was different from mine.

There will be plenty of opportunity for those conversations in the next two years.  I am a co-facilitator for a group in the NCC that is tasked with the responsibility of responding to two related World Council of Churches documents – one short (7 pages), one long (45 pages) – about Christian identity in a multi-religious world.  The short version was jointly approved by the World Evangelical Alliance and the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue as well.  I look forward to talking about these documents with my students this semester too in a course intended to teach doctoral students in psychology about world religions.  I invite readers of this blog into the conversation as well.  Feel free to e mail me or to respond to this blog right here.  Ecumenical conversations may be tough sometimes, but “so the world may believe” (John 17:21) it is vital that we give it the attention it deserves.

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“They Never Resolved the Chord”: On Using Art to Teach about Mission

This blog of mine will also be posted to the UM & Global blog.  

A recent experience at the movies with my musician son, Luke, provides a good – albeit humbling – example of a challenge all professors of mission face.  At the end of the film Interstellar, as we watched the credits roll on the screen, my seventeen-year-old son exclaimed – rather loudly – “they never resolved the chord!”  “What chord?” I asked.  “The one that has been playing for the last ten minutes,” my son remarked somewhat incredulously.  I was dumbfounded.  I had not heard it.  As I walked out of the theatre into the light I had the sneaking suspicion that I was still “in the dark” on at least some dimensions of that film.  Luke’s musical awareness and training had given him a different framework or set of interpretive lenses from which to evaluate this movie. They are lenses I don’t share.  My musical awareness has never been what his is, and what little I possessed in the past has atrophied from lack of musical muscle-building.

I think all professors of mission struggle to get students to think differently and more deeply about God’s mission.  We try to help students to see things which are clearly there, but which are obscured from our students’ view just as the unresolved chord was “hidden” from me in that movie theatre.  We use cross-cultural simulation exercises – my favorite is Heelotia – to help reveal the cultural differences in our world and the power of ethnocentrism to unconsciously shape our feelings and behaviors toward others.  We tell stories about amazing missionaries in the colonial period to displace attitudes about “missionary villains” which have been formed by less than helpful fictional caricatures of missionaries in a Barbara Kingsolver or James Michener novel.  (Graham Greene, Shusako Endo, or Robert Stone provide good alternatives in fiction.)

For a number of years I have been using artwork by Christian artists from outside the West to help me displace some “images of mission” which remain too firmly ensconced in my students’ minds.  I do this also to give them new images from which to draw as they craft a theology of mission that works.

My favorite image that my students and I reflect upon at the start of every semester is entitled simply “The Great Commission” by Nalini Jayasuriya, an artist from Sri Lanka who was an artist in residence at the Overseas Ministries Study Center some years ago.  She passed away precisely one year ago on September 5, 2014.

We not only begin our Christian World Mission course together reflecting on this painting but my students see it every week on my “course banner” in the learning management software my university uses.  I ask my students two simple questions about this image (which has been cropped below even though it is also the banner for this whole website).

Jayasuriya Great Commission

What is the artist trying to say here about the so-called “Great Commission” Scripture text in Matthew?  What do you think the artist is trying to say about mission in general?  We have never failed to have at least a fifteen minute conversation about this work of art, and almost every year a student will see something in the painting which I have not seen.  (Because I’m ready for it this usually results in less embarrassment than my experience in the theatre with my son.)  Sometimes I disagree with an interpretation, but that, in itself, is generative for further conversation in class.

Little fireworks of insight emerge in the class like this:  “The disciples seem to respond to the “Great Commission” differently. What does this suggest about the church’s different responses to God’s mission?”  “People are praying in this painting. How are mission and prayer related to one another?  Is there something distinctive about a mission spirituality?”  “The Jesus figure – who looks like a woman by the way– is not really looking at the crowd of disciples.  Who is Jesus looking at?”  Here, in a burst of Trinitarian enthusiasm, I sometimes suggest that Jesus is looking to God the Father and then switch excitedly to Andrei Rublev’s icon of the Holy Trinity for a moment. (My Pentecostal students always easily identify the dove with the Holy Spirit.)

Most of my students are Baptists, nondenominational Pentecostals, and Methodists so rublev iconteaching with icons like this requires some work, but when the icon is viewed and discussed in light of Jayasuriya’s painting it is a bit easier to understand.  Questions about the role of the Holy Spirit in mission and the Eucharist also come up as students ponder the dove and chalice in the painting.  The vivid red, orange, and yellow colors in this painting provides the opportune moment for us to also interrogate Emil Brunner’s famous quotation: “The church exists by mission just as fire exists by burning.”

Discussing Nalini Jayasuriya’s painting is a beautiful introductory exercise in my class.  By the time my class takes a break during our first class session together most students have a sense that mission is far more than strategic decision-making for their local congregation. They also recognize that mission is not so neatly defined as the line-item on their church’s budget spreadsheet labeled “mission” might otherwise suggest.  I have Nalini Jayasuriya’s artwork to thank for that, and on this first anniversary of her death I celebrate her life for the life she has helped me to infuse in my teaching.

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Deacon David Pendleton Oakerhater

Two weeks ago I was in Kansas to see a friend and decided one evening to drive three oakerhater deacon pichours to Watonga, Oklahoma to visit the gravesite of David Pendeleton Oakerhater (1850-1931), the first Native American (Cheyenne) person ordained a deacon by the Episcopal Church and the first and only American deacon to be named a saint by any denomination so far as I know.  I have been intrigued by Deacon Oakerhater’s life ever since first learning about him in 1998 while writing a book about the United Methodist diaconate.  A few months ago I had the opportunity to get re-aquainted while writing an article about him for a new Encyclopedia of Christianity in the United States (Rowman and Littlefield, forthcoming).

My three-hour drive to Watonga, Oklahoma was a time for me to reflect on Oakerhater’s life, the friendships he formed, and the history of injustice toward American Indians which many Christian denominations – including my own United Methodist Church – have been trying to better understand and confess wrongdoing for the sake of the Gospel of reconciliation we strive to profess.  United Methodists have had a number of services to express this desire for reconciliation.  The Oregon-Idaho Annual Conference had theirs just a few months ago; The Eastern Pennsylvania Conference will do the same next year.  Such services surely have their place, but I think it is fair to say that many white folk have a hard time knowing what to do next.  My visit to the Indian cemetery in Watonga was a modest personal next step.  I wanted to honor the memory of a Native American deacon saint whom I admire. I am a United Methodist deacon myself, after all, who grew up on the Minnesota plains which in some ways are not so very different from the rolling hills of central Oklahoma.

After arriving in Watonga and passing by an Indian Baptist Church and then several other churches in this small Oklahoma town I stopped to ask a boy riding his bike where the Indian cemetery might be.  He fetched his grandmother who kindly explained to me where it was – immediately south of the airport.  I followed her directions and arrived at the cemetery just as the sun was setting.  I read nearly every tombstone in that graveyard before finally finding Deacon Oakerhater’s grave under a tree.  In retrospect, I suppose it was right to first read the names of the Indians whom he served for so many years and the names of those who died long after the saintly deacon’s ministry was finished.  Deacon Oakerhater gave his life for them, after all.

Oakerhater represents for me also a story of reconciliation through friendship.  He took the name “Pendleton” from Jeanie Pendleton whose family helped support his education.  His ordination as deacon was also encouraged by another friend, Mary Douglass Burnham, who had started a ministry for Native Americans at Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Boston – a congregation in which I had spent an afternoon of research (on Charles Cullis) for my dissertation over a decade ago.

Oakerhater’s friendships with these people and his willingness to recruit other Indian students for the Carlisle Indian Industrial School in Pennsylvania raise questions for me – the answers for which mostly remain hidden.  What were these friendships like?  Were they of a condescending quality or were they deeply genuine?  After returning to Oklahoma why did Oakerhater recruit Indian students for the Carlisle Indian Industrial School?  Did he find something truly redemptive in this institution?  How so?  I believe he did find some things helpful about his time in Carlisle, because the alternative explanation of Oakerhater being a mere pawn in the hands of whites to further harm his people just doesn’t square with who he was and is simply not supported by the evidence.  Oakerhater was a bicultural or “liminal” person who sought to build bridges at a time of tremendous cultural upheaval for his own people. Doubtless he was misunderstood in his day and will be misunderstood in our own day as well.

oakerhater grave

David Pendleton Oakerhater’s gravesite

As I sat next to Oakerhater’s grave and watched the Oklahoma sunset a couple weeks ago I prayed for my friends, my community, and my work just as Oakerhater no doubt prayed many times so many years before.  I prayed for Native American communities too in my new state of Oregon and resolved to learn more about their stories just as I learned about Oakerhater’s story.  I prayed too for my friendships – and for future friends – where the good but slow work of reconciliation might also grow.  Deacon David Pendleton Oakerhater’s feast day is just a few days away on September 1.  I will celebrate it.

oakerhater sunset

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On Researching Forgotten Gratitude

I am currently researching the life of Ms. Agnes C. L. Donohugh for a chapter I’m writing

Agnes Donohugh - gray scale FOR PRINT

Agnes C. L. Donohugh

with some anthropologists and theologians.  I’m the lone historian of the bunch, but it’s a great bunch.  I sort of stumbled upon Agnes Donohugh in the process of doing some other related research, but I think she was the first American missionary to take a university-level Anthropology course prior to serving as a missionary overseas (with the Methodist Episcopal Church).  She went on to be the first American missionary to receive a graduate Anthropology degree from Franz Boas, the so-called “father of American Anthropology.”  She was also most influential in crafting the shape of anthropological training for missionaries between World War I and II.  In spite of these contributions and notable “firsts” hardly anyone has ever heard of her.

There are several reasons for her forgottenness.  At Hartford Seminary’s Kennedy School for Missions (where she taught from 1917 to 1944) she was always the less famous person teaching anthropology courses even if she did it longer than anyone.  British anthropologist/missionaries Edwin W. Smith and William Willoughby both published more books, were older than she was, and were, well, men.  It didn’t help that Agnes had a master’s degree from Columbia University and not a doctoral degree in an age when Anthropology as a field was increasingly becoming professionalized in such a way to exclude people from anthropology circles who didn’t have a Ph.D.

On a recent research trip to Columbia University it was a rather fitting – if frustrating – testimony to Agnes’s “forgottenness” that I learned that her 1917 master’s thesis was rather difficult to find.  It had no call number.  Conversations with four different and helpful university librarians finally yielded fruit, and I have been assured that they will be able to find it somewhere off-site.  Even her correspondence with Franz Boas – limited though it is – is proving a bit difficult to get my hands on through another archive.  But this is all part of the task of historians and, admittedly, these challenges are pretty mild compared to the sort of detective work many historians working on many other projects have to do on a routine basis.

Agnes Donohugh was more of a teacher than a scholar, although her contributions as a scholar are not, it turns out, insignificant.  (You’ll have to wait for my chapter to get done for me to elaborate on that.) She readily acknowledged at the end of her twenty-five year teaching career at the Hartford Kennedy School for Missions that she “never had time to write books.” She held many ideas about anthropology and Christian mission loosely such that she always considered them subject to alteration.  I sympathize with Donohugh in many respects.  My contributions, like hers, are far more likely to be recognized in the classroom or in the occasional “thank you” from a former student than in some future retirement banquet at the American Society of Church History where renowned professors are often rightly honored.  And I am OK with that.  I cherish my students’ “thank you’s” deeply.  I have a hunch that Agnes Donohugh did as well.

It is for this reason that I spent the better part of a sunny March Monday in the cold basement of Hartford Seminary’s library paging through twenty or so dissertations from the 1930s which I thought might mention Agnes Donohugh in the Acknowledgments of their work.  (Most of these dissertations actually didn’t have an Acknowledgments section unlike dissertations of today.) I was looking for hints of what her students thought of her.  After several hours of doing this I realized that I was researching the history of gratitude in Agnes’s life.  While tedious, I was struck by the beauty of that.

Today, I was grading papers from my United Methodist History and Early Doctrine course, and a common quotation from Wesley’s sermon, “The Scripture Way of Salvation,” one student commented on struck me with renewed force.  In describing what sanctification was all about, Wesley famously wrote that “It is love excluding sin; love filling the heart, taking up the whole capacity of the soul. It is love “rejoicing evermore, praying without ceasing, in everything giving thanks [emphasis mine].” In everything giving thanks…  Indeed, gratitude is a marker of one’s sanctification.   Gratitude given and, perhaps, gratitude received.

Many have noted that gratitude lies at the foundation of so much of life.  There are around thirty Psalms of Thanksgiving in the Bible.  Maybe I should consider brief sentences thanking Agnes Donohugh as little sonnets of thanksgiving as well.  Seen in that way, the day spent searching the Acknowledgments and other parts of eighty-year-old dissertations for hints about this forgotten anthropologist and mission professor does not seem so misspent after all.  Now, if only I could have the same attitude toward my unmarked papers I’ve yet to grade…

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