Minister's vindication good news for him, religion

By Phil Haslanger
The Capital Times
May 15, 2003

At the time, the Rev. David Benke thought he was just being true to his calling as a Christian minister who grew up in the Wisconsin spirit of neighbor reaching out to neighbor.

Instead, he found himself out of a job for eight months, facing the prospect of losing his standing as a minister altogether, caught at the center of a deep rift within his denomination, even being described by some of his fellow Christians as more evil than Osama bin Laden.

That's a pretty steep price to pay for leading a prayer at a citywide gathering in the wake of the Sept. 11 attacks in New York City.

It's an ordeal that finally ended this week when Benke's denomination - the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod - restored him to his job as president of the Atlantic District, which includes New York City.

Although the issue at one level was internal to his denomination - when is it OK to pray publicly with people who hold different theological views? - the impact is broader for a world of diverse religious beliefs.

Unlike many Christian denominations, Missouri Synod Lutherans stand apart from interfaith efforts. They believe that they should worship and pray only with those who accept their understanding of the Bible and of Lutheranism. As the Rev. Wallace Schulz, the man who suspended Benke, put it, "We have always believed it to be most God-pleasing not to worship with those with whom we have basic differences in doctrine."

Benke, a 57-year old native of Milwaukee, was one of many speakers at a community gathering called "A Prayer for America" in Yankee Stadium 12 days after two airplanes flew into the World Trade Center. There were entertainers, politicians, military leaders and many religious leaders trying to offer some consolation and hope to a city in grief. Benke thought that even though Missouri Synod Lutherans would normally not participate in such an ecumenical gathering, this was one occasion where it was appropriate. The newly elected president of his denomination, the Rev. Gerald Kieschnick, agreed with him.

Eighteen pastors and three congregations nationwide charged Benke with mixing Christian and non-Christian beliefs and with blurring the differences between Christian denominations.

Neither Kieschnick nor the denomination's first vice president could act on the charges because they had expressed public support for Benke before the charges were filed. So it fell to Schulz, the second vice president, to act on the complaint. He suspended Benke, and that suspension stood for eight months until an appeals panel unanimously overturned it.

In the meantime, Schulz himself lost his job as the main preacher on the "Lutheran Hour" radio program because of the backlash from his action.

All of this agony reflects the struggle within the Missouri Synod between those who think the denomination ought to engage the world a bit more than it has in the past and those who want to punish anyone who does not see things in the strictest way possible.

Benke is no stranger to the traditions of the Missouri Synod. His great-grandfather started 20 churches in the Eau Claire area. His grandfather was the longtime pastor of the largest Missouri Synod church in Racine and started Racine Lutheran High School. One of his brothers is a Lutheran pastor in Reno, the other a Lutheran pastor in St. Paul. He heads the district with the largest number of Missouri Synod Lutherans in the country. He adheres to his church's teachings against abortion, gay rights and women clergy. In other words, he's hardly a marginal character in his denomination.

Yet the reaction to his Yankee Stadium prayer - a poetic message steeped in the images of his faith - was vicious from some members of his church. He was called a heretic. He received a death threat. He told "Frontline" on PBS, "One man said that genuine terrorism was me. He said planes crash and people die, nothing big about that. Genuine terrorism was me giving that prayer." Those experiences shook Benke to the core.

"If religion leads people to make these kinds of accusations at exactly the worst moment in American history, then what's underneath religion?" he asked. "Is it a desire for absolute security so strong that people cannot see the need to reach out and help?"

If those had just been random erratic voices, it would have been bad enough. But the institutional weight of his church came down on him, at least for a while. So you can imagine his joy this week when he was vindicated.

"If a Christian cannot witness in the world at a time of crisis, then why be a Christian?" he asked during a telephone interview. For him, the answer came in the appeals decision, which essentially said that being a Christian in his denomination includes responding with other religious people in moments of extraordinary crisis.

He recalled being at a gathering of Missouri Synod Lutherans in Hales Corners, Wis., in December. He was nervous about how he would be received, but reassured by what he learned. "I found the true heart of the people was very supportive of human care, of Christian witness, of tolerance," he said.

Benke's vindication is good news for his denomination, because it means the forces of care and tolerance prevailed, even after a rough struggle. It's good news for the rest of us because religions that are respectful of the diversity of beliefs in this world nurture a hopeful future, unlike those whose intolerance and rigidity lead to a destructive fanaticism.

Phil Haslanger is the managing editor of The Capital Times. His e-mail is phaslanger@madison.com.

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