A pastoral letter on unity

A pastoral letter on unity

Dear Fellow Servants

During Christmas, many of us gathered with family and friends around the dinner table. These gatherings often included people we love deeply, and also those we love but struggle to like. We sat beside those whose personalities, opinions, or beliefs are different from ours.

Sometimes, we felt the presence of unresolved tensions, unspoken words, or differences that do not resolve quickly.

And yet, we still sat at the table.

I have been thinking about this from my own early childhood. Before we migrated to Australia, although I was very young, I remember Christmases in Finland, especially the large family gatherings on Christmas Eve in Helsinki. Like for all Finns, Christmas Eve was the heart of our celebration. The table was full, and so were the differences around it. At other times of the year, I could sense tension among the adults, even as a child.

But at the Christmas dinner table, something was different.

We gathered to celebrate Christ’s birth. My father would read Luke 2 before the meal. Earlier that day, the Christmas Peace was proclaimed in the city of Turku, a tradition dating back 700 years, declaring peace to the whole land. I did not fully understand it then, but I do now. Christ was at the centre of our gathering. He brought us together and held us close, even when we did not agree.

I believe this speaks directly to the season our Church is living through now.

The General Synod’s decision to remove the prohibition on the ordination of women has brought both joy and anxiety. Some have felt deep happiness and gratitude. Others have felt grief, unease, and a real sense of loss. Many people feel both thankful and concerned at the same time. These feelings show that this is important and that something has changed for us as a Church. For people on all sides, these responses arise from a sincere desire to remain faithful to Scripture and to act with integrity of conscience before God.

For some women, this decision speaks directly to their sense of calling, which they have carried with prayer for many years. In many of our congregations, these women are people we know well, sisters we have worshipped with, learned from, and shared Christian community with for much of our lives. This is where the General Synod’s decision takes on a human face. These women are not a distant group or an abstract issue. They are ‘us,’ not ‘them.’ It is right that we recognise how deeply personal this is, even as others may feel uncertain or grieve right now.

We need to name that honestly.

We also need to be careful about what we expect from ourselves. If we think unity means everyone must agree, we put a burden on ourselves that only Christ can carry. Agreement may come with time, or it may not. But unity is not something we create by matching our opinions. It is a gift from Christ, given before our differences are settled, and it lasts even when those differences remain.

Here, I have found the words of theologian Andrew McGowan helpful. He reminds us that brokenness is not our failure; denial is. Our differences are not always meant to be ignored or quickly overcome, but they can be redeemed. Redemption begins when we face what is broken together before God, rather than denying it or turning it into a weapon.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer also spoke clearly about this. He said that the unity of the Church is not just an ideal we strive for, but a reality grounded in Christ himself. He described the Church as ‘Christ existing as community.’ Our life together depends not on how well we manage each other, but on Christ’s living presence among us.

Bonhoeffer also said, quite profoundly and radically, that Christ is the mediator in all human relationships. Christ stands between me and others. This means I do not meet my sister or brother based on my own expectations, fears, or need to be right. I meet them through Christ. Christ frees me from trying to control or change others to fit my own ideas. He claims each of us first, and because of this, we can stay in relationship even when it is hard and where opinions differ.

This is why the image of Christ’s wounds is so important. Bonhoeffer reminds us that the risen Christ still carries the marks of suffering. Resurrection does not erase the wounds, it changes them. These wounds are not signs of failure, but of love. In the same way, the Church does not need to pretend it is unhurt to be faithful. When we name our wounds honestly, without denial or bitterness, they can become places where grace is at work.

We are now in a new season, and seasons take time to settle into. Over the Christmas – New Year period, I have been reading the Austrian poet, Rainer Maria Rilke and his Letters to a Young Poet. Rilke wrote to a young man who was impatient for answers. Rilke invited him not to demand answers too quickly but to ‘live the questions,’ suggesting that some questions are so important that they can only be answered by being lived over time, and that, gradually and often without noticing it, we may grow into the answers.

That wisdom is quite fitting for us now. As a Church, we are not living with settled answers. We are living with questions about faithfulness, conscience, unity, and how we move forward together in this new situation. This does not mean we are lost. It means we are trusting Christ as we go through this time.

As we move forward, I encourage us as a Church to take our time. No one wants to remain uncertain for long, and it is natural to seek answers. Yet it may be that God is inviting us not to rush, but to pay attention to what God is doing during this time of waiting.

I was recently reminded of an image that has stayed with me. The darkness of the womb and the darkness of the tomb are, in a deep way, the same. Both are places where something ends, and both are places where something new begins. We have experienced loss in this season, and God does not ask us to move on too quickly. For some, this season also carries the fear of losing a spiritual home that has shaped faith and a sense of belonging over many years. But that same darkness is also where resurrection life is being prepared, beyond our control and in God’s time. Luther would remind us that God’s hiddenness is not his absence and that God is often most present where he seems least obvious, even amid our disagreements, rifts and struggles.

In this season, it matters how we talk about each other, how we listen, and how we stay together. It is important to be gentle with one another and with ourselves, because the Lord is gentle with us. Christ does not push us forward harshly or impatiently. He walks with us at a pace set by his grace.

I also want to say this clearly. Our sisters and brothers who now worship in Lutheran Mission – Australia congregations are still our beloved sisters and brothers in Christ. We are united by one baptism and confess the same Lord. We may disagree about how Scripture applies to ordination, but that disagreement does not undo baptism or break the bonds Christ has made. The unity he grants us as a gift remains.

But there may be even more to consider. God, in his mercy, gives us sisters and brothers not only to support us but also to keep us grounded. Sometimes, God brings people with different perspectives to help us notice our own blind spots, remind us to stay humble, and encourage us to pray. I pray that, with the Holy Spirit’s guidance, Lutheran Mission – Australia can be this kind of voice for us, and we for them, as we continue our journey together as Lutheran Christians in Australia and New Zealand.

As we learn again how to sing the Lord’s song in a strange land (Psalm 137:4), I pray that we will have the humility to admit we do not have all the answers yet and the courage to trust that Christ, who has brought us this far, will also bring to life what he has promised.

Your Fellow Servant,
Bishop Mark