Brave Church: Tackling Tough Topics Together. Elizabeth Hagan. Nashville: Upper Room Books, 2021. 144 pages.
This was initially written at the request of the Alliance of Baptists, which then decided not to publish it because it was not a positive recommendation of the book. It is not positive and I don’t recommend; but I hope it is helpful.
Church doesn’t talk well about things. Doesn’t talk well about much of anything, I’d say. I’ve heard and overheard comments lately — perhaps intensified because of the state of our nation — that church needs to build consensus, avoid things that could be divisive. To my ongoing frustration, this is church. Conflict-avoidant. Nice.
So I am, on the one hand, thrilled when a preacher tries to create a path through that, and, on the other hand, skeptical when a book purports to tell how. I thus approached Hagan’s book with all that baggage and a wary eye.
Hagan’s passion for this topic seems to emerge from her personal experience of infertility and the dearth of support she found in her church during that time. I get it. And I applaud her willingness to be a resource for congregations and congregants experiencing such a thing — with all the judgment it may bring from those who still try to read literally any scripture on the matter.
The structure of the book, then, promises a useful resource, a study guide of sorts. After an intro about methodology, she includes chapters on five topics that certainly need the church’s attention, each chapter comprising background info on the topic, models among churches or non-profits that are doing something about it, questions for conversation, and a call to action. So far, so good.
My issues began almost right away.
The foundation and structure for her guidance are from a 2013 study by two educators; “groundbreaking” she called it, “a new set of rules,” where participants are coached to be in conversation in ways that honor and respect all the participants. These rules are not new; some version of them (e.g. “fair fight rules”) have been part of the work of therapists, mediators, facilitators and pastors for decades. Her encouragement that groups form a covenant together, while not a new tactic, is certainly a vital one for sensitive conversations.
The chapters on specific issues lacked cohesion, congruence and depth, and my dissatisfaction grew the further I read. I’m not sure Hagan had clearly defined the audience she intended to reach.
In chapter 2, infertility and miscarriage, she shares her personal experiences, and describes at length the church’s insensitive approach to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, as well as other ways the church stigmatizes those without children. (I would add that I have other issues with M and F days, too, emanating from the broad and painful range of experiences people have with their own parents.) The information is good, the issue real. But her call to action, rather than perhaps an audit of church practices that make assumptions or reinforce unspoken rules about parenting, is an invitation to learn more about foster care and organizations that support “orphans.” (She is founder and executive director of such an organization, so she’s clearly speaking from her own passion here.) But I wonder if this doesn’t feel like more salt in the wounds of infertility for some people — as if life is only full with children.
Chapter 3, on mental illness, wants to break down some of the stereotypes about mental illness, but actually reinforces them in some ways. She talks about suicide and schizophrenia, about psychiatric hospitalizations and rehab, all important topics and real challenges for families; but she neglects to discuss the less outwardly dramatic, and perhaps thus more insidious, disorders that are part of daily life. How the church provides meals for someone leaving hospitalization is important, but how the church expands its theology and adapts its worship and daily ministry to include a parishioner or even pastor with ADHD, suicide ideations or Bipolar Disorder 2 can confound as well. Wouldn’t that be really brave to acknowledge your pastor struggles with a mental illness? And can still be your pastor? By discussing only the really big ones, she underscores that only the big ones are real ones. Then, her emphasis on prayer, even if she meant merely to rein in an evangelical reliance on prayer as cure, gives too much space to the conversation and undermines the understanding of mental illness as a physical issue. Others may disagree, but this pastor would no more rely primarily or solely on a prayer response to mental illness than to a hernia or skin rash or broken limb. Having an entire section devoted to the conversation seemed out of place, with no similar prayer focus in any other chapter of things that ail us.
Chapter 4 is domestic violence, and I’m baffled by her choice of scripture — David’s fear expressed in Psalm 55. An odd choice. Why not discuss instead David’s rapes of Bathsheba? or the very many other biblical stories of family violence and exploitation? Fear is surely at the core of domestic violence, but so are powerlessness and low self-worth. Her page-and-a-half discussion of “submission” as a theological theme bespeaks her right-of-theological-center target audience (as do her references to purpose-driven Rick Warren, disgraced pastor Paige Patterson, various conservative Christian bloggers and her reliance on research by Lifeway). Progressive congregations will find this unhelpful and off-putting, a reason to choose another study altogether. In her “Brave Act” call to action, she recommends observing Domestic Violence Awareness month, which seems not terribly brave at all. I would have suggested, among other actions, congregations consider renting and furnishing an apartment in a safe location, and publicizing its availability (though not its location), so as always to have a place to hide someone who needs a quick plan b. And then study the laws in your state and city, to understand where the gaps are and lobby for strengthening them.
After Chapter 4, the tone shifts. These first three were designed to help congregation members understand and respond to circumstances in the lives of their fellow parishioners. In chapter 5, it becomes about community and political realities, a shift that didn’t serve the larger purpose or tone of the book, on topics to which the author fails to do justice.
In Chapter 5, Let’s Talk About Racism, it becomes clear to me that Hagan is wading into an area outside her expertise, and I wonder if she was simply pressured by the times to include something on race. She begins with a discussion of personal prejudice, and Jesus’ admonition about the way specks and logs can cloud our vision. She eventually gets to a delineation of implicit, systemic and historic racism, but it takes a very long time — and she never uses the phrase “white supremacy,” which churches need to be naming loudly and often. Her inclusion of lengthy stories from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Ta-Nehisi Coates seem lazy at best, indulgent and misappropriated at worst — as if she is trying to convince people that racism exists and is wrong. (Shortly, she speaks of racism as “mistakes we’ve made,” a painful reductionism indeed.) Especially with Adichie, the relevance seems strained. Her Brave Church models include a congregation that watched a movie and gathered with Black Lives Matter signs, and another that facilitated interaction between Black and Latinx communities — both of which mattered, surely; but the first was a not-terribly brave action statement, and the second, while vital in the community it serves, might even more broadly distract white people from our work, as just another version of “what about black on black crime?” Does she not know a white congregation that opened its doors to protect black protesters from police? Or a congregation in which white people committed to an examination of their own racist behaviors and micro-aggressions (using perhaps Layla Saad’s Me and White Supremacy, which includes a workbook, or Carolyn Helsel’s Anxious to Talk About It, which also comes with a study guide)? Or congregations struggling to understand and enact reparations, about which Coates has quite a relevant lot to say?
But Chapter 6 was when the wheels fell off. “Let’s Talk About Sexuality,” is about the church’s approach to the LGBTQ community, and the one chapter among all the others in which conversations are ok to include people who are for and against other people. Her premise seems to be that if we have affection for one another, we can disagree and still be community. She mourns that such disagreement can end relationships. To which I thought, perhaps aloud, “she must be straight and cis.” She claims she is “certainly not advocating for LGBTQ persons to put themselves in unsafe situations,” but fails to exhibit any understanding of the emotional and physical burden of living day by day in community with folks who feel free to “disagree" with your very being. Families that aren’t affirming aren’t safe, and LGBTQ folks need to feel free to determine for ourselves — without any judgment or pressure from church — how and whether to be in relationship with those unaffirming family members. The goal, she writes, “is not to convince people of our belief or change anyone’s mind about the topic…. Loving our neighbors doesn’t mean we have to agree with their opinions or support their choices…” Bigotry is the only choice in that equation, so perhaps that’s what she meant. Her models of doing church in this chapter included a congregation that wanted folks to “talk with each other, not at or about each other,” and used a UMC resource to present “traditionalist and progressive” viewpoints. She called it a model of “how we can make room for disagreements and challenge ideas rather than people.” This approach is terribly damaging to LGBTQ folks — unless she intends the work of education to be done on our behalf by straight, cis-gender people, similar to the way white people are supposed to educate white people about racism. But she doesn’t say that. Her Brave Talk section asks participants to “Describe a time when you disagreed with someone about church doctrine,” which betrays again her apparent belief that this is only or primarily a question of doctrine. She continually references “views on sexuality,” which I find to be problematic. “Views” on sexuality might speak to pre-marital sex, birth control methods, or the Kama Sutra, but surely shouldn’t include whether people who are created with difference should have the same civil rights and protections (which, as of this writing, LGBTQ folks do not).
Throughout the book, she touts the need for folks to enter the conversation with vulnerability, but there is an imbalance: abused partners, LGBTQ folks, people with mental illness, Black folks should not have to sit with folks who deny or oppose their reality; this chapter on sexuality is the only one in which she insists on having all “perspectives” at the table. Such is the life of LGBTQ folks in church. My strong recommendation is that, when churches are done deliberating and are ready to begin the healing work, only then invite LGBTQ folks into the conversation to help identify micro- and macro-aggressions, raise issues, and look for solutions and new practices. Until then, well, don’t expect all that many of us to want to spend energy converting you. It is exhausting and demeaning.
All that said, there may be a place for a book that does what this book wanted to do.
The format, with leader notes in the back, can be useful as a curriculum or template for congregations who need to learn some things (and there are always things we need to understand better, yes?). Her first chapter and the subject of her first book is a prime example of how churches screw up caring for neighbors in the unintentionally unkindest of ways. Scripture can be triggering, holidays can be triggering, scripture can be wrong and churches don’t always get it right. We have a lot to learn. Decades ago, I preached on the call of Abram and Sarai, and was confronted after worship by someone who thought my treatment of Sarai’s infertility was cavalier. I learned from that. I am thankful they bothered to say so.
My broad issue with this book is that it lacks focus; the topics are not parallel: infertility and mental health are presented as something to understand. Racism is discussed primarily as a moral wrong and secondarily as a community failing. Sexuality alone is something folks are free to pass judgment about. Were I Hagan’s editor, I would encourage her to start again, with a different set of topics: her first three, plus maybe addiction, debt, unemployment, chronic illness, terminal illness, neurodivergence, child abuse and neglect, dysfunctional families, sexuality not related to whether LGBTQ is acceptable. Or a host of others — issues that may be hidden behind the curtains of our congregations. These might even make a fine pamphlet series along the lines of the Channing Bete resources, allowing congregations to subscribe or to order ones that seem relevant to their life together. Better still, congregations might use the template to write their own curriculum. Her methodology isn’t new, but it is valuable for having difficult conversations.
For congregations wanting to know more and do something about sexuality and racism, however, this isn’t the book for you. But there are lots of good resources out there. Keep looking.