By Traci Rhoades
I’ve set a rule for myself that I try hard to keep: I forfeit the right to criticize an institution or organization unless I still have some skin in the game.
Last April, after completing 10 months of OCIA (Order of Christian Initiation of Adults) classes at my local Catholic parish, I joined the Catholic church. While a number of friends and family members still attend the Reformed church where I was once a member, I gave up the right to weigh in on its internal matters.
If I’m with someone and they begin venting about church frustrations, I try to be a sympathetic ear. I pray the conversation doesn’t drift into gossip, but otherwise, I mostly remain silent.
Part of that comes from another practice I’ve adopted over the years: I don’t complain about things unless I’m willing to be part of the solution. It’s no longer my church. I can still love the capital-C Church, and I do, while leaving the ongoing work of individual congregations and traditions to those who belong to them.
I care deeply about Christian unity over divisiveness, just as Jesus prayed in John 17:21: “I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one — as you are in me, Father, and I am in you. And may they be in us so that the world will believe you sent me” (NLT).
And while I always considered myself more “evangelical-adjacent” than firmly evangelical — honestly, it wasn’t even a label I thought much about until I began writing about church culture — I’ve largely surrendered both my right and my interest in participating in many of the debates that seem to consume modern Christianity.
So, when I saw a friend share on social media (do you see at all where this is going?) about the Southern Baptist Convention’s ongoing attempts to disfellowship churches with female “children’s pastors” in an effort to define the title of pastor as exclusively male, I chose not to engage in the debate itself.
Well, mostly.
I did comment, but not with my opinion on complementarianism or egalitarianism. Having grown up Southern Baptist, I once had skin in that game too. Instead, I simply expressed how sad these conflicts make me feel and offered my sympathy.
What I could have said was this: I want Christians to show up in a hurting world first and foremost as followers of Jesus, not as warriors for complementarianism or egalitarianism, for one side or another.
Now, lest anyone think I traded debate-heavy traditions for a debate-free one, Catholics certainly have their own lively internal conversations. Spend enough time online and you’ll quickly discover strong opinions about liturgy, theology, parish life, Vatican news, and just about everything in between.
At this stage of my life, I’m finding less and less desire to wade into controversy in general. I’m far more interested in deepening my faith than in becoming a full-time commentator on church disputes.
For nearly 12 years now, I’ve cultivated conversations online centered around all the things Christians share in common, seeking out what draws us together rather than further divides us.
Even as I’ve moved from one church tradition to another, I still believe deeply in our shared Christian heritage.
These days, the conversations I’m most interested in are the ones where people talk about how Jesus is showing up in their lives. Where lives are being transformed. Where families are choosing to raise their children in faith. Where men and women are honored equally as image bearers of God.
Where we take Jesus seriously enough to protect our witness to the world, not by winning arguments or getting the majority vote, but by reflecting the love and unity He prayed His followers would embody.
—————
Traci Rhoades is a faith writer who advocates for an integrated life rooted in Christ. Her family of three loves living near the beach towns of Lake Michigan.
I’ve set a rule for myself that I try hard to keep: I forfeit the right to criticize an institution or organization unless I still have some skin in the game.
Last April, after completing 10 months of OCIA (Order of Christian Initiation of Adults) classes at my local Catholic parish, I joined the Catholic church. While a number of friends and family members still attend the Reformed church where I was once a member, I gave up the right to weigh in on its internal matters.
If I’m with someone and they begin venting about church frustrations, I try to be a sympathetic ear. I pray the conversation doesn’t drift into gossip, but otherwise, I mostly remain silent.
Part of that comes from another practice I’ve adopted over the years: I don’t complain about things unless I’m willing to be part of the solution. It’s no longer my church. I can still love the capital-C Church, and I do, while leaving the ongoing work of individual congregations and traditions to those who belong to them.
I care deeply about Christian unity over divisiveness, just as Jesus prayed in John 17:21: “I pray that they will all be one, just as you and I are one — as you are in me, Father, and I am in you. And may they be in us so that the world will believe you sent me” (NLT).
And while I always considered myself more “evangelical-adjacent” than firmly evangelical — honestly, it wasn’t even a label I thought much about until I began writing about church culture — I’ve largely surrendered both my right and my interest in participating in many of the debates that seem to consume modern Christianity.
So, when I saw a friend share on social media (do you see at all where this is going?) about the Southern Baptist Convention’s ongoing attempts to disfellowship churches with female “children’s pastors” in an effort to define the title of pastor as exclusively male, I chose not to engage in the debate itself.
Well, mostly.
I did comment, but not with my opinion on complementarianism or egalitarianism. Having grown up Southern Baptist, I once had skin in that game too. Instead, I simply expressed how sad these conflicts make me feel and offered my sympathy.
What I could have said was this: I want Christians to show up in a hurting world first and foremost as followers of Jesus, not as warriors for complementarianism or egalitarianism, for one side or another.
Now, lest anyone think I traded debate-heavy traditions for a debate-free one, Catholics certainly have their own lively internal conversations. Spend enough time online and you’ll quickly discover strong opinions about liturgy, theology, parish life, Vatican news, and just about everything in between.
At this stage of my life, I’m finding less and less desire to wade into controversy in general. I’m far more interested in deepening my faith than in becoming a full-time commentator on church disputes.
For nearly 12 years now, I’ve cultivated conversations online centered around all the things Christians share in common, seeking out what draws us together rather than further divides us.
Even as I’ve moved from one church tradition to another, I still believe deeply in our shared Christian heritage.
These days, the conversations I’m most interested in are the ones where people talk about how Jesus is showing up in their lives. Where lives are being transformed. Where families are choosing to raise their children in faith. Where men and women are honored equally as image bearers of God.
Where we take Jesus seriously enough to protect our witness to the world, not by winning arguments or getting the majority vote, but by reflecting the love and unity He prayed His followers would embody.
—————
Traci Rhoades is a faith writer who advocates for an integrated life rooted in Christ. Her family of three loves living near the beach towns of Lake Michigan.
