How does one denomination become two broken pieces? In the waning years of the nineteenth century, people in one of them were about, to their sorrow, to find out. And to think: it all started with just the ordinary tensions and rivalries of a couple people. Things began with a conflict between a bishop and the editor of the church newspaper. At first, it was a picking here, a picking there, an unpleasant word, a critical action. By the late 1880s, their friends and associates were coming to take sides. By 1890, bishops on each side of the dispute were being put on trial by the opposing faction. Before long, they were meeting in rival conferences, each claiming to be the true voice of the church. As things spiraled, nasty words came into play – 'vile,' 'despotic.'
And it filtered down to each local church. Every church building was owned by the conference, so if there were two groups each claiming to be the one true conference, who owned what? And each local congregation had to decide where to stand. In some places, they managed to keep the peace. One church was split in their views, but they managed to work out a sharing arrangement: each group got to use the building at alternate times, with their own preacher sent by their preferred conference, until the matter was settled. In another place, the factions treated each other graciously and parted amicably, bidding each other success in the gospel.
But those were, alas, the exception. Other churches divided in rather more acrimonious ways. In Reading, where each conference faction sent a different pastor to the same church – each of whom had previously served there and was known to the people – the whole ordeal was divisive and tense. So much so, in fact, that crowds of neighbors showed up one Sunday morning to watch the anticipated drama unfold. In Lancaster, the majority of the congregation made their choice, but fifteen people who disagreed left the church and started over. Some places, groups in the congregation played a cat-and-mouse game, each taking turns changing the locks on the doors to keep their brothers and sisters in Christ away. And from where the fight began in nastiness between a couple men in positions of influence, it snowballed, degenerating to a point – and it repulses me to say it – that in one church in Iowa, members from one faction allegedly barged into a church service to serve legal papers against the other side, confronting the pastor and serving him the papers while he was at the church altar, praying with some people to lead them to salvation in Jesus Christ! Yes, from where it started, the fight spiraled to the point of interrupting and endangering the rebirth of souls. This was no laughing matter.
In the end, one faction at last won the title to all the church property and to the old name, leaving the other side nameless and homeless – all banned from the church buildings they'd built. In some places, Christians in the losing faction had to immediately start raising money to buy new plots and build new church buildings. Others – especially if they were united and in a place where the winning faction didn't have anybody, meaning the court decision resulted in a vacant building – raised money to buy their churches back from the winners. In one case, the winning faction wouldn't sell... until the church was hit by lightning and suffered some damage, and then at last they sold it back to the congregation rather than deal with the repair bill.
It's a sad story. And it's our story. In case any of you haven't realized it yet, the denomination I'm talking about was the Evangelical Association. The winning faction got to keep the name. The losing faction had to adopt a new name: the United Evangelical Church. And then, in the 1920s, when the United Evangelical Church itself split over the question of whether to bury the hatchet, the stubborn hold-outs who again lost the rights to the old name in a court fight adopted a new name: the United Protestant Church. But when they realized they should've checked first whether anybody else already had the rights to that one, they hastily switched to a different option, calling themselves the Evangelical Congregational Church. Which is us. This congregation shared in that sad and sordid story. Fact is, we had to vacate our old church building for a while, having lost the legal title to it, and worshipped in the Smoketown schoolhouse while the church building stayed vacant, 'til we could raise the funds to buy it back. This nonsense is part of our history. And the fight remained a great sore spot for people – until all the original participants were dead, after which the heat gave way to a profound sense of embarrassment for a lot of people. From one seed of conflict came a devastating divide.
Something like that is what Paul worries about in Philippi. As we reach the section of the letter we've read this morning, Paul addresses a situation about which we eavesdroppers from the future have hitherto known naught. You see, there were these two ladies in the congregation – and perhaps they were a bit well-to-do, perhaps they were sponsors of house churches, but whatever their income level, they were certainly prominent, everybody knew them and respected them. And these Greek-speaking women were named Euodia and Syntyche. They've had a falling out in recent times. They don't see eye-to-eye. They're feuding with each other, not unlike became the case between the Evangelical Association bishops. Now, for Euodia and Syntyche, the original seed of conflict may have been a petty issue. Certainly it wasn't a matter of doctrine or of ethics or of anything else very substantive, or else Paul would address the issue on its merits. But if the seed of conflict was petty and petite, the result promised to be anything but that. The ripple effects were already getting bigger, and Paul could extrapolate from the ascending amplification he was hearing about. If he didn't see this as a problem, in his culture he'd never name Euodia and Syntyche and associate them with the trouble.
Which is why Paul wants to be clear, as he raises this issue for the entire church to hear, that both Euodia and Syntyche have been faithful gospel co-workers in his experience. In the split of the Evangelical Association, both factions tried to dig back through the histories of their now-rivals and discredit their past character and accomplishments. Paul refuses to let that happen here in Philippi. Euodia and Syntyche apparently converted during Paul's original season of ministry in the city, and they threw themselves energetically into evangelism right there at his side. That's why Paul explicitly says that both of them had “labored side-by-side with me in the gospel, together with Clement and the rest of my co-workers whose names are in the book of life” (Philippians 4:3bc). Both women's lips have announced that Jesus was crucified for their sins, that he is risen from the dead, that he has ascended into heaven, that he's exalted as Lord at God's right hand, and that he'll come again as their Savior. Both women have their names written down in the heavenly register of heavenly citizens called the book of life. Both women have been working out their salvation and continue to harbor immense potential. And so Paul doesn't dismiss or deny any of that. Neither Euodia or Syntyche is merely a problem. Both of them are, in Paul's eyes, beloved friends in need of help – whether they want it or not.
We can no longer know what Euodia and Syntyche were feuding about, but Paul's adamant that it can't be allowed to eat the church – or, of course, the women themselves. Now, today, one or both of them might just 'solve' the issue (or, rather, pretend to solve it) by just quitting that church fellowship – maybe switching to the church down the road, maybe dropping out for a while, maybe taste-testing a few here and there. But that wasn't a live option for the Philippians, unless they wanted to move to a different city altogether.
What Paul does want, though, is clear enough. He wants Euodia and Syntyche to both listen to him. He begs, he urges, he pleads, he beseeches each one of them separately, individually: “I entreat Euodia and I entreat Syntyche” (Philippians 4:2a). He wants Euodia and Syntyche to remember the common ground they have, the common ground that whatever this issue is can't erase: Jesus. That's why he insists on redirecting their attention to “the Lord” (Philippians 4:2c). He wants Euodia and Syntyche to each adopt the Jesus Mindset toward their issue, because it isn't worth the damage they're risking to Jesus' body. That's why Paul instructs them to “be of the same mind” or to “agree in the Lord” (Philippians 4:2bc). And, because that's clearly going to be difficult for the two of them now that matters have spiraled, Paul calls on church leadership like Epaphroditus and like Clement to get involved in mediating and reconciling these two members and their factions. Paul asks these people to “help” or “assist” – it's a very active word, very much an involvement in their broken relationship (Philippians 4:3). And perhaps Paul wants the rest of the church to step in as well. He thinks pretty highly of the church: “my brethren, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown..., my beloved” (Philippians 4:1). And since nobody can figure out who Paul means when he addresses his request for help to a “true companion” or “noble yokefellow,” one option is that it's a role open to the whole church or anybody in it.
So that's what Paul hoped would happen then. I don't know how it played out in Philippi. But I'd like to think that Euodia and Syntyche patched things up, and the crisis was averted – unlike what happened in our circles 130 years ago. I can see at least three different ways in which this saga might play itself out in today's churches.
First, this can become deeply relevant in the case of a personal offense or a personality clash. That type of thing happens in churches, doesn't it? And it's not just limited to women. This might be the most common way we replay the Euodia and Syntyche act. Maybe a modern Euodia says something that a modern Syntyche finds offensive and hurtful – a snide or careless remark, a tone that comes off too strong. Maybe Syntyche forgot to invite Euodia to her party, and it came across as a snub. Maybe Euodia critiqued Syntyche's work a little too harshly. Maybe Syntyche broke Euodia's confidence, perhaps without even realizing, and so jeopardized trust. Maybe Euodia made a decision that Syntyche won't respect. Maybe they're neighbors and Syntyche's dog keeps barking and Euodia can't sleep. Maybe the two just rub each other the wrong way somehow, giving off an air that the other dislikes or resents.
I'm sure you can imagine what it's like to get offended or irritated by a fellow church member, or to have them get offended or irritated at you. I'm sure you can imagine what it's like to just not click with somebody in the congregation – and if not in this congregation, then in one from your past, or with another Christian of your acquaintance. All of us, I'd surmise, have gotten these little glimpses of what it might be like to be Euodia or Syntyche in this kind of scenario. And all of us have probably seen Euodias and Syntyches fighting around us in churches. Sometimes it's loudly, sometimes it's passive-aggressively, sometimes it's privately in ways few realize but themselves. In many cases, it isn't positioned in a place for the ripples to be too jarring. But make it too central, or put it on the wrong fault-line, and watch out. In the case Paul's looking at, he sees a grave and genuine threat to the health and unity of the church, precisely at a time when the outside pressures of Philippian society mean they all need each other the most. And so he wants to nip things in the bud. He doesn't insist that Euodia and Syntyche have to become best friends. But Paul does insist that they take their differing attitudes and steer them into a convergence on the way Jesus thinks about life. And if they need help getting there, they'll get it, like it or not. It might feel odd or even invasive for Paul to enlist church leaders or other church members to step into something that strikes us as very personal. But it was so important that the awkwardness was a risk they'd just have to take. By the end of the intervention, the issue at play might or might not get settled, but the parties in question will at least be able to reconcile and move on with more the mindset of Christ.
A second way a church today might see a replay of Euodia and Syntyche is in a disagreement over a church decision, the way things are done. Now, in some decisions that a church has to make, one direction has a clear 'gospel advantage' over another. To preach the word of God faithfully has a clear gospel advantage over failing to do so – even if we don't all like what God has to say. To raise a collection for the needy has a definite gospel advantage over a collection to reupholster our cars. And when it comes to that cathedral in England that made the call to replace their sanctuary with a mini-golf course? Yikes, almost any other outreach idea would've had a gospel advantage over that rot.
But then other decisions are more gospel-neutral – neither direction, at least when considered in a vacuum, will clearly present Jesus in a way that the other options won't. Those decisions still have to get made, and they do; but the people involved in them can sometimes get awfully passionate. Sometimes, they're financial decisions. Some scholars think this was what the original Euodia and Syntyche were fighting about: whether to donate to Paul's upkeep in Rome or to spend the money toward supporting local Christians under economic pressure. We can imagine a financial choice being controversial. Or maybe it could be about the décor. Euodia wants a green carpet, but Syntyche wants a beige one, and if the argument gets too heated or if one feels unheard, it can lead to trouble in the church. Yes, I've heard horror stories of churches splitting over carpet color. Or maybe Euodia's grandpa donated a certain piece of furniture, and Syntyche wants to replace it with something new and fresh and different. Or – here's one to try on for size – maybe Euodia only feels like singing hymns, while Syntyche has a desire to sing something peppy and modern. I've seen people fight over this. I've seen people leave churches and break fellowship over not getting their way on this.
So imagine a Euodia and a Syntyche divided on a church decision – maybe music, maybe something else. Both are passionate about the direction they want to see the church go. Both stick to their case tenaciously. Both are more concerned with winning the fight than with the impact their combat – or their secession – has on the church. Of course, Paul might say, as he said to the Corinthians: “Why not rather suffer wrong? Why not rather be defrauded?” (1 Corinthians 6:7). This sort of issue is why it's good when we have clear mechanisms to decide on a direction, like pastoral direction or a board vote. And then it's incumbent on us, whether we like the direction or not, to reconcile ourselves to it or to at least not disrupt. These mechanisms make reconciliation easier in these scenarios, because the goal to be achieved is much clearer.
One of the earliest Christian writings we have that isn't in our Bibles is a letter to the Corinthians written by a man named Clement, around the same time John was getting his Revelation. We can't be 100% sure, but I like to think that the Clement who wrote this letter is the same Clement whom Paul a few decades earlier called his co-worker in this passage. And in that letter, Clement has some tough love for folks who disturb the unity and tranquility of a church by rebelling against settled decisions or the authority of the leaders who make them. He says that if somebody is so dissatisfied that they really can't help themselves, then if they have even an ounce of love and compassion in their hearts, they'd say: “If on my account there are sedition and quarreling and division, I'll leave, I'll go wherever you want, I'll do what's enjoined by the community – only let the flock of Christ have peace with its appointed elders.” Because, the way Clement sees it, to try to upend things and rock the boat is really an attempt to tear Jesus limb from limb. Because the church isn't just a consumer option in a marketplace – it's the body of Christ. That's what's at stake in church unity when we make it a family feud.
And a third way churches might sadly revisit Euodia and Syntyche is through politics. In the past few years, I've spoken to Christians who are more up-in-arms about political issues, about what they see and hear and read in the news, than ever before. It's a harder and harder topic to avoid in the church, or in any social setting. We've seen an upswing in disaffiliation – people leaving their church, or even church as such, over political division. We've seen it break and damage assemblies of the people of God. This happens. Political division can be a powerful dividing force in the church if not handled carefully. So let's sketch a picture.
Suppose, if you will, that Euodia is a registered Republican, and Syntyche is a registered Democrat. Maybe both of them are sincerely trying, in their political behavior, to live up to the Lord's requirement that we all “do justice” and “love mercy” and “walk humbly with [our] God” (Micah 6:8). Both have compassion for the poor and sick and weak and downtrodden. Euodia thinks private charity and incentives toward employment are the more helpful option, while Syntyche thinks public assistance programs are still necessary for the common good. Euodia thinks a competitive marketplace for healthcare will spur innovation and excellence so diseases can be treated that never could be before, while Syntyche wants to distribute the bill through government to make sure we all can be well. Euodia says that discipline and structure are indispensable safeguards for human flourishing, and Euodia worries that Syntyche's policies would lead to chaos, upheaval, and harm. Syntyche calls out injustices that go unanswered under the current order and structure, and Syntyche worries that Euodia's approach turns a blind eye. For Syntyche's heart breaks for racial minorities who still get singled out and targeted, for immigrants told they don't belong, for women whose traumas are dismissed, for prisoners whose surroundings give them no view up to a better life. And she wonders if Euodia really cares about any of that, or if she's willing to sacrifice the exploited on the altar of an unjust peace. For her part, Euodia hates racial discrimination and every kind of exploitation, too. But she worries that racializing and problematizing every human interaction can only make a community worse. She believes that human dignity requires that each person be seen as an individual made in God's image, not as an avatar of intersecting demographics. And she wonders whether Syntyche's vision doesn't make excuses for violence or fail to restrain sin and crime.
When they talk about it, Euodia admits she likes the current president. She's troubled by the excesses of the other party; she feels duty-bound to never vote for their agenda. She thinks the president has done a fine job under circumstances that Euodia sees as relentless opposition from established institutions. She believes he's yet to be given a fair shake. She thinks he's the only major-party candidate who'll let her live in peace according to her most cherished convictions. She thinks he's less likely to lead the nation into insanity or perversion. She also thinks he's the only major-party candidate who will speak out against waves of lawlessness and social decay, who will allow her to protect her family, who will let her invest in her community according to her own wisdom instead of someone else's alien judgment. So Euodia hopes the president will get a second term, and she plans to vote accordingly. In that hope and that plan, Euodia can count Billy Graham's granddaughter Cissie on her side. You've probably met fellow believers who think like Euodia thinks. Maybe you are one.
But Syntyche doesn't see eye-to-eye with Euodia. Syntyche looks at the Oval Office now, and she doesn't like what she sees as vulgarity and mockery and boastful pride. She doesn't think the administration has a solid relationship with truth-telling. She doesn't believe the president has ennobled the presidency or elevated the way we treat each other. Syntyche is concerned by what she believes is the way the president encourages sinful elements buried in our national psyche – elements we've spent centuries trying to exorcise. She wants civic leaders who will help mercy triumph over judgment, who will lead the way in confessing and repenting our past wrongs, who know that all truth is God's truth and not to be neglected. And Syntyche just doesn't think she's seen that in the Oval Office lately. Syntyche thinks the office's latest resident is unstable and dangerous, that he's leading us away from becoming our healthier selves as a nation, and that we need a breath of fresh air. So Syntyche hopes to avoid a second term. She plans to vote accordingly. And in that hope and that plan, Syntyche can count Billy Graham's other granddaughter Jerushah on her side – yes, even the Grahams can take opposing views. You've probably met fellow believers who think like Syntyche thinks. Maybe you are one.
Now, both Euodia and Syntyche have thought through their politics. Both are acting from motives that are as fair as two redeemed sinners can muster. But when Euodia and Syntyche look at each other through a partisan lens, what happens? Each judges the other's faith and witness to be compromised. Each trusts the other less. Each is more repelled from the other, more inclined to cut the other off, to stop listening. Euodia shares a post on Facebook, a talking point she heard on Fox News. Syntyche gags and argues back with the talking points she heard on MSNBC. Syntyche calls the other party a nasty name, and even if she wasn't talking to Euodia, Euodia feels hurt and takes it personally. And as it keeps going, their long history of faithful ministry gets eclipsed or erased. The unity of their heavenly citizenship is overshadowed by the petty politics of earthly mud.
Now, are there political topics that are issues of serious moral divide – political opinions that are more or less faithful to the Lordship of Jesus? Yes. But on most, the line from Bible to ballot is pretty squiggly, running through a variety of prudential considerations on which even Jesus' disciples or Paul's co-workers in the gospel might end up differing. Christians who check different boxes on the ballot can find “agreement in the Lord” – it begins with firm fervor for those first fundamentals, it leads to serious and charitable dialogue, it flowers in grace shown to each other as prudential wisdom proves to differ. Euodias and Syntyches may agree in the Lord even when they don't come to agree on policy positions, or who the right person to vote for is. If you're with Euodia here, you can afford to listen carefully to how Syntyche can challenge you. If you're with Syntyche here, you can afford to listen carefully to how Euodia can challenge you. If you're with neither, you can afford to listen carefully to them both.
Let me admit something to you: my wife and I know that, when we vote in a couple weeks, it won't be for all the same people. And that's okay. In the past few years, I've talked with pastors about how they'll vote, even gotten some insight into how our bishop votes – and let me tell you, it's not all unanimous. And that's okay. We can agree or disagree with Euodia, we can agree or disagree with Syntyche, we can agree in part and disagree in part with each. We ought not let differences of earthly politics overshadow the unity of our heavenly citizenship in the Lord Jesus Christ. Nor should anything else petty or personal or pragmatic or prudential overshadow that unity of mind in the Lord – never, never, never.
Whatever the situation, know and understand that Jesus Christ died for Euodia and for Syntyche and for me and for you. He died for our sins; he died to save us. But he died so that his tomb could be the womb of something new: a church indivisible. He prayed earnestly for us to cherish the unity he gave us, the unity we demonstrate when we love each other across personal slights, across personality differences, across decision-making, across the political landscape, and find common ground in our Risen Savior, who is coming again to settle everything at last. Let's not repeat the mistakes of our forefathers. For we are called to agree in the Lord, to have the attitude of Jesus, to be one in the Spirit. Amen.
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