Theology in the Living Room

"In spite of our ignorance of one another, of our prejudices and our dislikes, Jesus, make us one." With this prayer, seven Seattle residents--four Protestants and three Roman Catholics--sat down together to talk about theology one evening last week in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Lamar. Beneath a benignly smiling statue of St. Francis, the group sipped coffee and nibbled cookies as they discussed the differences in their faiths for two hours, ending with still another prayer--and agreement about what they would discuss at next month's meeting.

Similar group discussions among concerned Christians can be found all across the U.S. these days, as part of an interfaith experiment in grass-roots ecumenism called "livingroom dialogues." The idea of spiritual conversations by laymen, without the inhibiting presence of a priest or minister, was thought up by Paulist Father William B. Greenspun, who developed the program with the help of the Rev. William A. Norgren, the Episcopal director of the National Council of Churches' Faith and Order Department.

With the approval of the Council and the Catholic hierarchy, the dialogues were first tried out last year in Worcester, Mass., have since been extended to more than 40 communities. The Seattle area has 85 groups that meet once a month, following the discussion plan outlined in a paperbound guide by Norgren and Qreenspun.

Semantic Problems. Limited to 15 participants, the living-room dialogues always start with a few brief prayers and Scripture readings. Topics picked for discussion range from church reform to the whys of different Christian ways of worship, although the talk commonly branches out into a free-and-easy dialogue on what the participants don't know about their neighbor's faith.

During last week's conversation at the Lamars', for example, Hostess Mary Lamar, a Catholic mother of seven, suggested that at one of their meetings the group ought to visit the Catholic church across the street. Presbyterian Bettie Phillips promptly suggested that they also visit her church. "You'd probably be surprised, Mary," she said, "that we have the same kind of symbolism you have."

Clearing up semantic problems played a big part in the evening's talk. Mary Lamar expressed a dislike for her church's customary references to others as "non-Catholics" ("I don't think that I'd like being described as non-Protestant"). For her part, she hated the way Protestants frequently referred to her as a "Roman Catholic" with a strong emphasis on the Roman. For the benefit of Bettie Phillips, Mary explained why the chief priest of a parish is called the pastor; Bettie in turn explained to the Catholics how Presbyterians use the terms vestry and synod and why their principal statement of faith is called the Westminster Confession.

The Idea of Conscience. The Protestants and Catholics found much to admire in each other's religious traditions. Episcopalian Herb Elliott, an engineer at the Boeing Co., liked the Catholic emphasis on attending services every Sunday; Kay Zupan, a convert to Catholicism, approved the Protestant notion of individual responsibility in spiritual matters. "Your idea of conscience is something that appeals very much to me," she told the Protestant members of the group.

By themselves, the living-room dialogues will not heal the scandal of divided Christianity. But Fathers Greenspun and Norgren believe that the climate of understanding created by the conversations is an indispensable prelude to organic church union. The participants at the Lamar home firmly agree. At one point, Mary Lamar raised the question of the value of the dialogues. "You have got to talk," answered Bettie Phillips' husband David. "Only as we talk together do we have any chance of drawing together." Added Herb Elliott: "Put it this way, Mary. You had to meet your husband and talk to him before you could love him, didn't you?" Mary blushingly agreed.

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