A General Synod without walls
By Michael Thompson
“This fellow eats with sinners and tax collectors.” Luke 15
As our General Synod approaches, the issues before our church come into sharper and shaper focus, and the volume of the commentary – both the sheer amount of it, and its loudness, grows. In a fractured world, there is before us the specter of a fractured church. All it will take for that to be realized is for us to persist in seeing each other as “positions” instead of persons. And in particular, to see each other as “outside” and “inside”, or “onside” and “offside.”
We are not the first generation to be tempted in that direction. In the time of Jesus, there were hard boundaries, boundaries that defined a person as clean or unclean, as included or excluded, as “us” or “them.” I have absolutely no doubt that if we come to General Synod looking for reasons to impose such boundaries, to build such walls, we will find them.
But if we come to General Synod looking for persons, and if we can imagine for a moment that our walls and boundaries are not God’s dream for us, then something else, something quite powerful and transforming, can happen. We can meet each other, not as members of some sub-culture, either safe or suspect, but as members by baptism of a single Body, grafted into a single Life that lives for the sake of the world.
When Jesus sits down with tax collectors and sinners for a meal, he is offering a parable of the Kingdom, as surely as when he tells of the prodigal, the unjust steward, the mustard seed. He cuts across the grain of “how it is” and offers a hint of “what it may become.” And when we gather around any of the tables to which Jesus invites us, we might find ourselves surprised, might discover that this parable, in which we are now part of the cast, is as difficult and angular now as it was then. It brings to mind Robert Frost’s poem, Mending Wall, a meditative exploration of our need to separate ourselves from one another – “Good fences make good neighbours” and on “Something” (we might be so bold as to say “some-One”) who doesn’t love a wall.
In his poem, Frost muses, “If I were to build a wall, I’d ask to know / What I was walling in or walling out….” And later: “Something there is that does not love a wall, / That wants it down.” And so he veers into the path, not just of a homely truth about a particular and pointless wall, but of a Truth embodied in the living Word of God as he sits with tax collectors and sinners.
We could make a list of notorious walls – the Berlin Wall, the security fence that carves Palestine into bantustans, the security fence along the U.S. border with Mexico. Older walls – the Wall of Hadrian, preserving an enclave of Roman civilization against the untamed Celts, the Great Wall of China. And older walls – of Jericho, of Jerusalem. All dividing the world into a safe and sane “us” and a volatile, inscrutable “Other.”
And the message of all these walls is that we are dangerous to each other. We are competing for some scarce something that we have and they want. Energy, water, wealth, truth, status. Whatever it is that builds walls, it divides us from one another – renders us suspicious, hostile, anxious. In the absurdity of post 9-11 North America, we trade away the very thing we claim to value – individual freedoms – in order to preserve them. We have lost our minds, or at least the part of our minds that can reflect critically, seek understanding, resolve complex issues and make reasonable choices. The reptilian “limbic” brain with its “fight or flight” is no invention of post-modernity. It has been with us always. It builds walls and arms us behind them. It makes hostility of difference, threat of diversity, makes an enemy of the Other.
There are two possible responses to Jesus’ table fellowship with Others. One is to probe his acts for meaning – for how they might effect some long-desired transformation within and among us. Some who stood by made this response, became disciples, followers, re-learned their humanity from its most competent practitioner. The other response is to bend the wall around him, so that he becomes not “us” but “Other”, and as “Other,” enemy. No student of history could ever imagine anything but a sticky end for Jesus, an undefended Other unprotected in the midst of a threatened and hostile “us.” And a sticky end it will be, it will always be, for those who serve the “Something” that, the Someone Who “doesn’t love a wall.”
But on the third day, a stone moves in that wall. Something, Someone is happening, breaking through what must be to assert what may be, lifting us out of our ghettoes (chosen or imposed) into an unwalled Kingdom. And if, in this meantime that really is a mean time, we must have walls that protect, and therefore must risk walls that assail, we can no longer, after this Jesus lives and dies and is alive again, believe that walls are the best we can do. There is another way. Because of that way, we – tax collectors and sinners? – gather at Jesus’ table. Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down.
Sometimes the purpose of our ministries is clear, transparent, and agreed, though even a simple maintenance bee can surface diversity – even conflict. One thing is certain about this General Synod. There will be disagreement as well as common cause, and strongly held positions (and the persons who hold them) will come into conflict. I am quite certain that some thing or another than I hold dear will be called into question, that I will be called to participate in something uncomfortable or even disagreeable during common worship, that someone will have as hard a time understanding me as I have understanding another. From across Canada, from the increasingly diverse communities in which our churches serve, bearing startlingly different, even divergent convictions about the nature and the mission of God, and about the manner of our contribution to that mission, we will gather in Winnipeg. A community of persons, meeting.
Something that doesn’t love a wall, some One Who doesn’t love a wall, is calling us together. In our parish churches, in our parish councils and vestries, in our congregational meetings, in our regional councils and deaneries, in our synods and synod councils, that living God who calls us together has been calling for a long time.
Calling for us to meet, enjoy, and delight in the friendships that are nurtured – can only be nurtured – in the Body of Christ, where difference is just difference, and Christ is all, in all.
Calling us to offer the world an image of that other way, of the stone that moves on the third day, “breaking down the dividing wall of enmity” (Ephesians 2.15). In our baptism, God brings us into the community of witnesses to a new humanity – “one new humanity in place of the two” (2.16). And this is our witness – that as persons we choose God’s gift of communion, not as the absence of conflict and disagreement, not as the absence of friction and irritation, but as the lived faithfulness that does not allow those things to outweigh the saving and reconciling work of Jesus.
Perhaps more than anything we will vote on (or avoid voting on), this witness is the work to which God calls the General Synod, this is the parable we are meant to tell by the nature of our meeting, of a common humanity in a dangerously fragmented world, held together not by a common mind or even common sense, but by a common Saviour who doesn’t love a wall.
Rev. Dr. Michael Thompson is Rector of St. Jude, Oakville, chair of the Communications and Information Resources Committee of General Synod, and a delegate to General Synod.






