Pentecostals and Ecumenism, Part 2: It’s Complicated

At times it felt like I was in an illicit relationship. Was I being disloyal to my Pentecostal family? Was I losing my identity in the thrill of it all? Some people thought I was crossing a dangerous line. Some people just didn’t understand why I felt the need to bother with ecumenism at all. And I wanted to understand why I felt so attracted – was there something lacking in my own my family that pushed me into creeds and books of common prayer?

As I analyzed my own new relationship, I was interested to find out about the general dynamics between Pentecostalism and the rest of Christianity. As our short history reveals, it’s been an on-again, off-again relationship, or as facebook so aptly puts it, our relationship status reads: It’s complicated.

For a brief historical overview, check out part 3 of Amos Yong’s article, “Pentecostalism and Ecumenism: Past, Present, and Future.” (See article intro here.)

In the early days of Pentecostal revivals, the ecumenical vision was strong as people experienced an outpouring of the Spirit that swept away denominational, racial and socio-economic boundaries. The early Pentecostals were people from a wide variety of church backgrounds, and it was their hope that the Spirit would bring renewal to their own churches. But this hope soon became overshadowed by the reality that many of those churches simply didn’t want renewal, at least not of this crazy Pentecostal kind. Pentecostals were shown the door, or, frustrated at what they saw as dead and dying institutions, left of their own accord. There was initially a strong push against organization on a denominational level, because the early Pentecostals didn’t want to start a new brand of church. They wanted the Spirit to bring life to the churches they were already part of. But for a variety of reasons, Pentecostals eventually separated and formed their own denominations just like all the others.

The original vision faded to grey. Now Pentecostals did have some legitimate criticisms of the mainline churches, but broken relationships on both sides made those almost impossible to communicate in a constructive way. A sense of mistrust grew out of rejection. In addition, the holiness background of the movement emphasized separation based on a certain lifestyle, which Pentecostals took to mean separation from the world and any churches which did not follow the same moral codes. The evangelical association placed great importance on doctrinal purity, and so to associate with others of different theological stripes was to water down the full gospel message. The adoption of dispensationalist eschatology saw the efforts at ecumenical cooperation as just another step toward the one-world government of the anti-Christ. And the free-church ecclesiology that was eventually settled on placed little value on visible unity between churches. The real church, after all, was an invisible group of saved souls already united in spirit by common faith. So why bother with manmade attempts at cooperation with people we didn’t think were really born again in the first place?

All these factors led to either an attitude of apprehension or indifference when it came to ecumenical activity, attitudes that still linger in Pentecostal circles today. And that’s not to say the ecumenical movement has been or was a perfect model. But there is something deeply wrong with a church as divided as we are. Outsiders know it. It’s one of their biggest criticisms of the church. How can we claim to love Christ when we so obviously refuse to love other Christians? It’s a huge disconnect in our witness. We desperately need to heal old wounds and build new bridges with the churches down the street. Too often, fear, ignorance, insecurity and insularity have held Pentecostals back from this much needed engagement.

The body of Christ is broken. And simply going to an ecumenical council meeting or holding hands and singing “We Are One in the Spirit” will not heal it. This is something we cannot do on our own. Only the Spirit can bring life. Unity is a supernatural reality, but it won’t happen without our willing participation.

There are many different aspects to ecumenical participation, as Amos Yong outlines here. But whatever our participation, we need to engage precisely as Pentecostals. I’m not that interested in “lowest common denominator” ecumenism. Sure, there are times when seeking common ground is essential to increased understanding and cooperation, and in many cases may be the best way to go about getting people together at a practical level. But watering down our conversation to something we can all agree on can be counterproductive in the long run. We need to hear each other’s distinct voices. Self-definition is key to fruitful dialogue. We need to know who we are and what we stand for. This healthy self-identity is necessary as we encounter and critically evaluate other theologies and practices.

We will be good conversation partners to the extent that we come to the table as Pentecostals. That’s something I learned in an ecclesiology class attended by students from at least 6 different Christian backgrounds. They wanted hear what I thought as a Pentecostal. And I wanted to hear what they thought as Catholics, Anglicans, Presbyterians, United Church and Mennonites. It was challenging. I had to be comfortable enough in my own denominational skin to engage. But once I did, the discussion was amazing. There’s no doubt I heard the Spirit speaking through my classmates.

We need to learn from and challenge each other. I don’t think we as Pentecostals have it all together theologically, or even have the best expression of what following Christ is all about. (Which is why this blog exists in the first place!) But the move of the Spirit in Pentecostalism in the last century or so is a definite challenge to the rest of the church. There is something the Spirit wants to say to the church through us. And the Spirit can’t say it if we aren’t willing to get together and talk with the rest of the family. It is only as we build relationships of mutual respect and demonstrate willingness to work through our family differences that we have the right to critique. Too often we have separated ourselves out of concern for doctrinal purity, when instead we are called to speak the truth in love to each other. Our voice will not be heard when we refuse to join the conversation.

We need to challenge other Christians. And they need to challenge us. Pentecostal theology needs to be forged in the fires of wider Christian thought and practice, hammered out by ancient creeds and newer voices, conflicts and revivals, the mistakes and victories of history, the wisdom and worship of other churches. If it can’t stand up to the heat, maybe it needs some serious reworking.

I am encouraged by many of the things I see happening. More pastors are involved with local church councils, both with evangelical churches and mainstream ministers. Long-entrenched denominational barriers are being broken down, brick by brick, as Christians realize we’re all in this together. Education and cooperation go a long way in pushing back fear of the other, even the Christian other.

But any relationship takes work. When the crush is over, are we willing to commit? Are we willing to stick it out through the council meetings, the ecumenical services, the interruption of our own church schedules, and engaging our brains with tricky points of theology while keeping our hearts soft toward our sometimes strange brothers and sisters?

Before we can make the commitment, we have to believe it’s worth the risk and the effort, that being in this relationship is better than going it alone. We have to believe there is something wrong when we can’t dwell together in unity. We have to feel a pang of sorrow at all the walls we’ve built up to protect us from each other. We have to feel the love stirring in our hearts, love that comes from Christ and is, in a way, directed back to him, because the church is Christ’s, not ours. It is His body.

Ecumenism is just a fancy word for what the church has always been called to do – love each other and work out our differences together. For better or worse, that’s the relationship I want.



p.s. Did you know this coming week is the international Week of Prayer for Christian Unity? Is it something your church is involved in? More info here.


Discussion questions:
What has been your experience with ecumenism?
What is the current attitude in your church toward the other churches in your community?
How can Pentecostals better “fellowship, share and cooperate” with other churches?

An Ecumenical Crush

Pentecostals and Ecumenism, Part 1: An Ecumenical Crush

The New Pentecostals are those who respect other Christian denominations and traditions and are willing to fellowship, share and cooperate with them.

When I was a child, I remember passing by the other churches in our town with a certain sense of curiosity and pity. There was the giant Cathedral in the middle of town, built when Fort Smith was actually being considered for the capital of the Northwest Territories. It was big and beautiful and purple inside. The community choir held their Christmas concerts there, and I loved singing out into that chilly space. I eyed the stations of the cross, the flickering candles and the statues of Mary with a certain suspicion and sadness however. The Catholics weren’t really saved, after all. Sometimes the grown-ups talked of a “born again” Catholic as if the occurrence was a great anomaly. As a young teenager I remember a particularly heated conversation at youth group with a Catholic friend about not eating red meat on Fridays. I brought out my Bible and a good thumping ensued. I’m not sure she ever came back to our youth group . . .

The Anglican church was farther up the main road, and much smaller than the Catholic church. We went there sometimes for ecumenical services during the week of Christian unity. More often I attended events in their church hall – pancake breakfasts, weekly Girl Guide meetings, and All Saints Eve parties where we dressed up as characters from the Bible. My piano teacher was an Anglican. The Anglicans were a little better than the Catholics. They didn’t worship Mary, after all. Mostly they were just dry and boring. Those ecumenical services were definitely tedious. Up and down, back and forth between papers and books, reading prayers. When we said the creed I purposely left out the word “catholic.” I only believed in one holy apostolic church. And to top it off, they smoked outside the church on Sundays!! Or so I had heard. Dry, boring and definitely carnal.

I think there was a Baptist church that met in some guy’s basement. They had a sign out on the front lawn. I think they were a little odd. I never knew anything more about them.

The Pentecostal church was within walking distance from our house, either by sidewalk or through the baseball diamonds as a shortcut. It was, in my humble opinion, the best church in town, despite its ugly orange carpet (which is still there, by the way). We had tambourines and lively music, and later drums. We had good half hour sermons at least, not those strange and shortened things called homilies. We made up our prayers every Sunday. No candles or rituals or idol worshiping for us. We didn’t just go to church. We had personal relationships with Jesus. Plus, we had the Holy Spirit.

* * *


I am a fourth generation Pentecostal, the daughter of a Pentecostal minister and Bible College teacher. I grew up in the PAOC. I went to a Pentecostal Bible College. I served in Pentecostal churches. So I’m not really sure when my pity turned to something else – genuine interest, respect, and at times a strange longing for stained glass. At some point in the two years between Bible College and enrolling at Wycliffe College for grad studies, I had developed something like a crush on other churches.

Perhaps it was my disillusionment with certain aspects of Pentecostalism. Perhaps it was the sense of sacred space and connection to saints past that I had experienced in chapels and cathedrals alike. Perhaps it was the fact that I had married a Baptist. Whatever the cause, I found myself intrigued. When I went to other services, I actually enjoyed the liturgy. When I spoke with people from other backgrounds, it was like missing pieces of my theology were falling into place, shifting things around and making me look at God and the church in entirely different ways. And I liked it.

I wasn’t sure where the relationship was going. Sure, I had held hands a few times with ecumenism, and we’d gone on several Sunday dates. But could there, should there, ever be anything more? I had been warned about ecumenism. He was something of a bad boy. I had heard whispers about his associations – popery and one world governments and maybe even the antichrist. But there in the glowing candlelight of a stained glass window, I wanted more.


Stay tuned for Part 2.