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HOW THE CROSS BECAME A CROSSWALK

How the Christian message can create reconciliation

 

by Jack Kubinec

Two of America’s most influential seminaries sit across the street from each other, but the theology they teach their soon-to-be ministers could not be more different. The red brick buildings with white trim that make up the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, the largest protestant seminary in the world, sit on the north side of Lexington Road in Louisville, Kentucky. Southern Seminary is pro-life, rejects the ordination of homosexuals, and stands for biblical inerrancy—the belief that all Biblical scripture is factually true and divinely inspired. On the other side of the highway, the Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary is ambiguously pro-choice and allows for the ordination of homosexuals, advocating for social justice and broadly liberal theology. [1]

The peaceful coexistence of Christians in Louisville defies common sense. Southern Baptists and Presbyterians in the city have long histories of infighting and church politics. Such theologically-disjunct and combative denominations churning out ministers across the street from one another sounds like a recipe for disaster, but churches in Louisville somehow remain respectful towards one another. Overcoming their combative origins to work side by side in promoting the flourishing of their city, the seminaries' current coexistence provides insight into how a divided Cornell and a divided America may begin to reunite.

the seminaries’ current coexistence provides insight into how a divided Cornell and a divided America may begin to reunite.

Less than a generation ago, Southern was a relatively liberal seminary. Its transition to conservatism was won through seemingly un-Christian means, as the quiet campus nestled on the north side of Route 64 briefly served as a battleground in a larger power struggle between liberals and conservatives in the Southern Baptist Convention. In 1979, two influential conservative Southern Baptists conspired to end the denomination’s line of theologically liberal presidents by appointing a president of their ilk who would rewrite the denomination’s theology in more conservative terms. Leaders in the convention were forced to sign the theological statement, which centered around biblical inerrancy, or leave their positions. Like dominoes, the theological liberals in the convention began to fall, first being the head of the Foreign Mission Board. Then the head of the Sunday School Board was told to pack up his arts and crafts and leave his post. Soon, the president of the Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville was accused of “not believing in the Bible” and fired [2]. Amidst the chaos of this conservative takeover, a recent Southern Seminary graduate named Albert Mohler was tasked with overhauling the faculty and curriculum at Southern to meet the new ethos of the Southern Baptist Convention. Still serving today as president of the seminary, Al Mohler looms large for theologically conservative Christians, maintaining a widely-read blog and multiple podcasts. Mohler’s presidency ensures that Southern Seminary will remain a bastion of conservative theology, standing in contrast with its liberal neighbor across the street.

The seminary’s conservatism is theological, but Southern is not immune to some of the excesses of American conservative political culture. I have multiple family members who have attended Southern Seminary, and one remembers a female classmate trying to spark up a conversation with a classmate who was wearing a wedding ring. The classmate said that he was unmarried, but wore the ring “so that women wouldn’t try to talk to him.” While far from ubiquitous at Southern, instances of this sort of over the top conservative culture magnifies the distinction between Southern and the Presbyterian Seminary. And yet, Southern Seminary remains peaceful towards its liberal neighbors across the street.

On the other side of the highway, Presbyterian Seminary has its own seemingly un-Christian history of political infighting and intrigue. The flagship Presbyterian Seminary was never supposed to be in Kentucky, and only became so by a plot hatched by shrewd church members. In 1989, the church headquarters were to be moved to Kansas City, but a group of Louisville Presbyterians descended on the voting convention armed with a local businessman’s promise to donate two empty warehouses for the church building. Their unstated goal was local economic revival — to bring 500 white collar jobs to a downtown Louisville that was pockmarked by empty buildings and mired in decline– and their promise of lower construction costs won them the final vote. Several church employees disapproved of the coup and refused to move to Louisville, and the price of the relocation continuously increased from the $24 million that the Louisville Presbyterians had first predicted. Like their Baptist neighbors, the Louisville Presbyterian church has a past that is marked by petty infighting and church politics.

Graduates of Southern and Presbyterian Seminary and their congregants are brought together by the unique reconciliatory power of the Christian gospel.

The belligerence displayed at times by Louisville’s two seminaries make the institutions an unlikely case study in depolarization, but the unity between Christians despite ideological differences is not caused by institutions, nor is it entirely created by humans. Graduates of Southern and Presbyterian Seminary and their congregants are brought together by the unique reconciliatory power of the Christian gospel. More specifically, the denominations are brought together by their shared desire to see Louisville thrive.

You might assume that politics stands between the denominations like a highway divider, but Nick Weyrens, a Southern Seminary graduate and local pastor, does not believe that the conservative seminary’s chaotic origins have much bearing on today’s congregants. Bespectacled and sporting a mustache befitting of a man whose church has been under quarantine, Weyrens is of the belief that conservative heavyweight Al Mohler’s “views don’t change most people’s minds.” He further suggested that the majority of his congregants were likely unaware of who Mohler is. Despite the political savvy that went into his seminary’s conservatization, the denomination’s past has little influence on how its current congregants worship. Consequently, Weyrens does not “feel like [he is] the person to change the SBC.” The pastor seemed almost bored by this line of questioning, regaining animation when speaking about local ministry and his desire to seek the “flourishing” of Louisville.

It is this focus on the city's flourishing, rather than on theological disagreements, that unites conservative and liberal churchgoers. When protests erupted in downtown Louisville following the acquittal of the police officers involved in the killing of Breonna Taylor, over 100 Southern Baptists went downtown to give coffee to exhausted protesters and clean up garbage in the protest’s aftermath [3]. The next day, the Presbyterian church in Louisville held a vigil for justice for Breonna Taylor where several Presbyterian ministers spoke about unity. Conservatives and liberals worked in tandem for the betterment of their community [4]. Conservatives and liberals worked in tandem for the betterment of their community. In a polity where nearly everyone agrees polarization is a problem, but no one has figured out how to bring the country together, it is worth examining the common faith the churches share as an explanation for their norm-breaking behavior. 

Jesus’ life was devoted to depolarization. Through his death and resurrection, the divide between Jews and non-Jews was bridged, and all people became able to be made right with God.

Jesus’ life was devoted to depolarization. Through his death and resurrection, the divide between Jews and non-Jews was bridged, and all people became able to be made right with God. But, peacemaking is also evident in Jesus’ everyday life. Early in his ministry, Jesus escaped persecution by Jewish religious leaders by passing through Samaria. The problem with this route, John writes, was that “Jews have no dealings with Samaritans” (John 4:9 ESV) [5]. In our modern, polarized context, the divide between Jews and Samaritans could be compared to the rift between Democrats and Republicans, rural and urban residents, or Dallas Cowboys fans and regular people. Yet, Jesus does not respond to his enemy with insults, nor does he ignore his enemy. Upon seeing a Samaritan woman, Jesus asks her for a drink of water. Taken aback, the woman asks why a Jew would want water from her, a Samaritan. The story then takes a bizarre turn.

Jesus responds by saying that he can offer the woman water that she can drink once and “never be thirsty again” (John 4:14 ESV) [6]. Rather than responding to her supposed enemy with suspicion a second time, the woman realizes that the water Jesus speaks of symbolizes eternal life and that he is the promised Messiah, so she hurries back to town, telling all who would listen in her Samaritan town that the Messiah had come and urging them to come and hear him speak. To place this event in a modern context, the Samaritan woman’s actions are like a member of the Cornell Democrats encountering a Cornell Republican on East Ave., having a short conversation with him, and bursting into the next meeting of Cornell Democrats, urging everyone to go and hear the Republican speak.

And yet, the woman speaks with such urgency and sincerity that “[m]any Samaritans from that town believed in [Jesus] because of the woman's testimony” (John 4:39 ESV) [7]. Crucially, though, the Samaritans go on to listen to Jesus and decide for themselves that Jesus “is indeed the Savior of the world” (John 4:42 ESV) [8]. Their faith is not a blind faith based on second-hand testimony, but a sincere faith cemented by an encounter with God himself.

Martin Luther wrote that “God can draw straight lines with crooked sticks” and such paradox seems to be the outcome of Louisville’s Christian movement [9]. Despite the ugly political histories of both denominations, Louisville church communities provide respite from politics for Americans who tend to link their views on their personal life situation with their political identities [10]. Conservative and liberal seminarians in Louisville peacefully coexist because their belief in the same Messiah pushes them to seek the flourishing of their community before petty political debates. Clever human argumentation is not enough to bring divided people together, but an encounter with the living God covers all conflict. The divide between America’s left and right seems to be a rift that none can bridge. Luckily, Lexington Road in Louisville has a crosswalk.





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JACK KUBINEC

is a sophomore from Louisville, KY studying government. Jack is still waiting for Netflix to get back to him on his idea for a dating show for marathon runners. He would call it “Speed Dating.”