Living in a Divided House? 

It has been ten years since Obergefell v. Hodges put an exclamation point on a massive social shift that began decades before with the advent of the sexual revolution. As the political and constitutional aftershocks of that decision continue to reverberate in courts and legislatures, another series of conflicts, contests, and judgments is being worked out. Only this series is not taking place so much in the legal arena as within private and often religious institutions like churches, universities and seminaries, and parachurch ministries. At issue in these cases is not whether same-sex marriages will be legally recognized in the public square, or whether citizens who dissent from the current zeitgeist will be required to pretend otherwise, but whether Christians and other religious believers will voluntarily shift their beliefs and practices to align with a progressive view of human sexuality. 

Not surprisingly, among Catholics that conversation focuses on determining whether Pope Leo XIV will be sympathetic to the (putatively) more affirming views attributed to Pope Francis, or whether he will uphold the Church’s historic teaching. Naturally Protestants find themselves in a rather different situation given their very different ecclesial and para-ecclesial structures, and so we see internal struggles over the human sexuality question in denominations like the United Methodists, parachurch organizations like World Vision, universities like Seattle Pacific University, and most recently Fuller Seminary. It is true of course that no one outcome from any of these controversies will have the seismic effect of Obergefell; nevertheless the collective results of these difficult and painful wranglings will significantly affect the religious and political landscape—even the moral ecology—of our culture for generations to come. 

The university for which I work and the denomination in which my family and I worship are no exception to this trend, as Calvin University and the Christian Reformed Church in North America (CRCNA) have been caught up in this debate beginning as long ago as 1973 but more intensively in the last few years. As there is every reason to think such conflicts and tensions will continue into the foreseeable future, what is happening at Calvin and the CRCNA can shed some light on the dynamics at work there and in a host of other institutions facing the same challenges and pressures. What follows is a sort of diagnostic treatment of the contest over the future of one corner of American Protestantism, albeit from a perspective that is admittedly close and unavoidably personal. 

The relationship between the CRCNA and Calvin University has come under great scrutiny in recent years given disagreements about human sexuality, the role that fundamental documents play in defining a tradition, and who determines what happens about significant differences moving forward. In other words, Calvin’s current stormy moment is about a significant issue (human sexuality), disagreements about the “constitutions” that govern the CRCNA (creeds, confessions, synodical statements) and Calvin University (articles of incorporation, bylaws, position papers), and authority (who, ultimately, gets to decide).  

What makes for a tradition? Drawing loosely from the late Alasdair MacIntyre, one definition is that a tradition has a set of foundational convictions that really aren’t up for debate, and some ideas that are debatable. Belonging to a particular tradition means agreeing on certain crucial beliefs and often practices that simply compose what it means to be in that tradition. But traditions also have room for disagreement within the tradition, and so members can debate and argue about important but secondary matters and still be seen as members in good standing. Members of PETA might differ on the best way to advance their cause. But no PETA member can have a “bacon of the month” subscription and still be a member –in –good standing of that “tradition.” Michigan football fans can disagree in good faith about whether Desmond Howard or Charles Woodson was the best Wolverine, but you can’t say you’re rooting for Michigan and Ohio State football at the same time without a gross contradiction in terms. You’re out of the tradition if so.  

And this can be applied to faith traditions as well. For two thousand years Christians have been jostling about what counts as foundational—say, the Trinity—and what might be really important but debatable, like infant versus believer’s baptism. The foundational things define borders, and the debatable are things we disagree about, but we still think we can have the debate inside the house because what we share in the foundation gives us a common space for our disagreements. With these examples I’m thinking of the universal Christian house, but of course we could think of more specific traditions, or houses, like the Methodist or Catholic house, or in Calvin’s case, the Christian Reformed house.  

The “house” is a helpful metaphor here. We have it on good authority that a house divided is in trouble. But surely some divisions count more than others. It can be difficult when people living and working together in a tradition disagree on those debatable things. It can be devastating when they disagree on the foundational things. And it can be frustrating, puzzling, and confusing when people in the same tradition disagree about which kind of disagreement they’re having. Are we arguing about something foundational? Or debatable? Say one party wants to make some changes in the house: we need to take down a particular wall to make the house function correctly. Perhaps this is debatable. We can keep the wall, or we can take it down, and people can disagree about this in good faith. Others see this as a foundational issue; the wall must come down. And others still agree that it’s a foundational issue, but from the other side. The wall is what’s known as a load-bearing wall, which is to say that you can’t take it down without risking bringing down the whole house.  

This metaphor sheds light on the ongoing and painful series of arguments in the Christian Reformed house and, to push the metaphor probably too far, the schoolhouse that sits next to it (Calvin University). Some churches are leaving the denomination because they are persuaded that the traditional view on human sexuality has to go, even if that means changing the nature of the tradition that the church has held historically and is still held globally by the strong preponderance of Christians in the Global South. Others made the case that this issue can be handled on a sort of federal/state basis, such that churches and classes could go their own way. But the CRCNA’s Synod—the highest decision-making body of the denomination—affirmed not only that the traditional position on human sexuality was correct, but that it always had been a top-tier and foundational issue.  

A few points should be made about this framework. First, this “sorting out” of positions and the future of the Christian Reformed tradition is in one sense completely normal and unavoidable (even as it feels surprising, unsettling, and painful). Since at least 1517 and even before, many Christians have concluded that some issues are so foundational that unity, important as that is, must give way to faithful obedience. Note also that this is true of progressives leaving the CRCNA no less than the conservatives who hold to the traditional view. When we have deep disagreements, we have processes and procedures to try to work those out. There simply is no blueprint or path that guarantees everyone’s good faith view of an issue will win out. Once that process has played out, the question for those whose view did not prevail is whether they can reconcile themselves to the house rules or whether they need to move out. I went through this myself when the Presbyterian Church (USA) conducted this debate thirty years ago. Separation is difficult, but Protestants, of all people, can’t object to separation in principle, even as we hope to navigate such a painful season with peace and grace toward each other amid deeply personal changes.  

Second, we can acknowledge that the institutions of the church and the university are distinct, even though in our case Calvin’s founding documents make it clear they are very closely related. I for one think that human sexuality is a load-bearing wall for the church. If my progressive friends are right that same-sex attraction and intimacy is part of God’s creational design as much as heterosexual attraction and intimacy, then certain and inevitable things follow for how the church should work. And the same is true for the traditional position as well. The two divergent positions reveal even deeper differences over what counts as authoritative, and sometimes it’s better to acknowledge those differences than pretend we’re all still building on the same foundation.  

But what about a university related in some way to a church? I think it’s unavoidable that the educational institution must settle on a position; human sexuality is a load-bearing wall for the university for the same reason it is for the church. But there’s more room for debate and discussion given the ethos of what a university is. It’s not the same as a church, though it will still need to find a place to stand. That is to say, there will still be boundaries, and it is only when the institution decides where it stands on a debated issue that it can determine how much room there is for disagreement. Only then can those who disagree figure out if they can live with that arrangement. Make no mistake, for every university, seminary, charity, and ministry, there are, and always have been, shared convictions that act as boundaries, or guardrails, that make possible the pursuit of a common mission. That is nothing new at Calvin or elsewhere. And there has been, and will continue to be, some authority—a synod, or a board of trustees, or a CEO—that determines the extent of those boundaries and how they are honored.  

In Calvin’s current moment, what is contested are not only the particular boundaries pertaining to human sexuality, but also the place of the CRCNA in exercising authority for Calvin regarding those boundaries. That stumbling block of which authority matters is most definitely not confined to our corner of the world, however. People of goodwill in the church and the university disagree about these and other important matters. Some see the boundaries of historic orthodoxy as squelching who we are and restricting our freedom. Others, myself included, see them as making a more genuine kind of freedom possible. I am grateful for all of my friends and colleagues, wherever they stand. 

For what it’s worth, and because it can be easy to think opinion among Calvin faculty runs predominantly in one direction, I came to Calvin in part because of its relationship to the CRCNA and the oversight that means. And even amid the turmoil of our moment, I remain grateful for the unique ethos and (contested) mission of Calvin University, as well as the creeds, the confessions, and the authority of the church. Ultimately the schoolhouse that is Calvin and the Christian Reformed house that is the CRCNA are our Father’s houses, and I find comforting that bedrock Reformed doctrine of God’s sovereignty. But that doesn’t remove the hardship and the difficulties that come with sorting all of this out. How to do so with grace and conviction, charity and truth, gentleness and respect? With man this is impossible. 

This essay draws from an op-ed written for Calvin University’s student newspaper, Chimes, on April 14, 2025. 

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