Detroit Delicatessen: A Perspective on Our General Assembly
Logan Hollarsmith
I asked the teaching elder commissioner next to me during one plenary session why the General Assembly (GA) never asks his opinion on the structure of the assembly. I was fishing for a joke to break up the summer days spent in the overly air-conditioned dark conference hall. The pastor took a moment to respond. He turned to me and in his slow, deliberative speech told me, “Sometimes it’s better to not see how sausage is made.”
I could not have been luckier than to join in the 221st General Assembly, and it was my privilege to see how the sausage is made. I grew up in this church, and always associated the word “church” with our congregation and address on Sacramento Street. The first three days in Detroit were culture shock to the indoctrination of what appeared to be the United Nations of Jesus. I never imagined the sheer scale of the Presbyterian Church and the surprisingly horizontal political structure that unites and governs us. There were teaching and ruling elders from all over the country, representing nearly two million members, and the sense of shared identity among the one thousand participants was strongly felt. I even learned of Presbyterian jokes and our self-declared stereotypes of collective indecision and over-analysis. However, as encountered through dinner conversations with other elders, in many cases our shared identity as Presbyterians was our only commonality.
Several of the voted decisions divided the church. Speakers made their way to one of the seven microphones to express grief, polarity among the polity, and in tears would share their decision to take their congregation into other denominations. The stakes were very high this year, but as I was informed by a GA Junkie: “It’s always this important.”
The GA is a very public affair, where decisions are broadcast and implemented across the country. What is not shared among the masses are the small personal accounts that make up the passing of the overtures by majority vote. The process toward the “calling of the question” was tedious, very uncomfortable, and often hilarious. To bear witness and participate in a transparent democratic system was both inspiring and empowering. This feeling of unity was balanced, on the contrary, by moments more relatable to those dreams of entering your final exams in a bathrobe (to which everyone can relate, I’m sure).
Presbyterian polity, regardless of how many times I read the Wikipedia page, refused to make sense to me. Sometimes, the GA spent hours perfecting an amendment that was doomed to fail from the start. And often, debates were broken down into the assumed meaning behind the Dewey-Decimal System: 3.13 will be grouped with 3.6 and if you voted in the affirmative to disapprove 4.17 you will want to take the same action on 3.11. I loved it. It was like a code that I was given one week to crack. One man approached the microphone in protest to this secret language and drawled, “All these numbers...what do they mean? It feels I’m at a pig auction!”
Other Young Adult Advisory Delegates (YAADs) were able to correct the official parliamentarians on matters of Robert’s Rules of Order. This was my first encounter with Robert’s Rules, and I could not compete with the young adults who read Robert’s Rules while I was still reading Dr. Seuss. But our collective knowledge of both the Bible and slightly more nuanced politics made a difference. One young adult had the final word in the same-sex marriage debate, reminding the assembly that she was wearing pearls, wearing pants, and had cut her own hair. All of which, are not permitted in the Bible. Women are not even allowed to be ordained, according to the Book of Confessions.
It was a good group of young adults. And although I was on the older side of the group, and at times felt alienated by their summer camp atmosphere, I was proud to be a YAAD in the 221st GA.
I too would make my up to the YAAD-designated microphone during plenary to state my case, but my position at the very front-left of the stage made my walk to the microphone a good 25 seconds. By the time I reached Microphone 6 and received my paddle (green = in favor; red = against; star = internet is broken; etc.), the question would be called and I would rush back to my seat in time to vote. Although my seat in the front proved detrimental to my public participation, its close proximity to the backstage entrance was an invaluable resource.
I met the staff who orchestrated the entire assembly on day one, when I rushed backstage to express food poisoning into a cardboard box once filled with the new hymnals, Glory to God. It was all that was needed to receive the unofficial backstage pass for the rest of the week. I spoke with the camera operators, the representatives of the company hired to tally the votes, those who write the script only moments before it is read by the moderator, and I especially became colloquial with those who restocked the coffee and soda. It was like going behind the curtain of Oz. The questions and answers were already written, printed, and delivered to the moderator even before the question was publicly asked. Presbyterians are organized and have been doing GA for a long time. Aside from voting malfunctions, internet outages, and comical script mishaps, the plenary floor operated efficiently and effectively.
But in the matters of Committee 09-Social Justice (where I served) and the overtures regarding the Middle East, I felt the most at home and a strong sense of purpose. In the smaller committee meetings, I was able to make amendments that settled debates, and ask questions that deepened the scope on several of the overtures. As people prayed for the three kidnapped Israeli boys, I quietly reminded others to extend their compassion to the seventeen Palestinian boys kidnapped in the week prior, as well as the bombings of Gaza, hundreds of arrests, and killings in the search for the three boys. Although we as a church have begun to make a firm stand on the actions of Israel, the Palestinian story is still not told.
When I returned home to upstate New York, news of the GA had already reached my friends and employers. Many of my friends were delighted with the GA outcomes and overwhelmingly proud to have known someone on the inside. Others were not so pleased. My boss approached me while aboard his John Deere and before asking how my trip was, he asked “Did you vote about those companies? I mean did you personally vote against Caterpillar?” I explained to him my reasons for supporting the divestment of Caterpillar, Hewlett-Packard, and Motorola Solutions over the idling tractor. I acknowledged an unfamiliar calmness and confidence within myself as I explained the human rights violations in relation to the actions of these companies. I have heard “both sides” to 162 controversial topics within the church. I am beginning to learn how the sausage is made.