Confessions Of A First Time Ga Commissioner

by Sherard Edington

It was an honor to have been selected to serve my presbytery (and synod) at June’s 216th General Assembly in Richmond. It is quite impossible for me to come away from such a complex event without an overwhelming compulsion to share with you the flotsam wedged in my skull from this eight-day Presby-thon.

"Sherard Edington. Minister Commissioner.
Middle Tennessee Presbytery."

Like a backslider at a 12-step meeting, all commissioners to the General Assembly are required to identify themselves with a cryptic tripartite formula when addressing a committee or plenary. We must give our name, describe whether we are a minister or elder commissioner or an advisory delegate and we must identify our presbytery. This method of self-classification becomes so quickly ingrained that even in casual conversation commissioners introduce themselves with their ecclesial name rank and serial number. It may be efficient but it gets my vote for World’s Worst Pick-up Line.

The first significant order of business before any Assembly is Saturday night’s coronation of a new moderator. This represents the passing of the stole from Father Time (or Mother Time as the case may be) to Baby New Year.

This year’s dream team of pre-announced candidates consisted of the old guy from the right, the not-so-old guy from the left, and the young guy from out of nowhere. Barring a surprise nomination from the floor conventional wisdom pointed toward our selecting one of the late-model candidates and dismissed the 30-something like last month’s communion wafers.

The electing process begins officially with nominating speeches. I suspect there exists a rule that these speeches must be delivered by an opposite-gendered person who is noticeably older or younger than the candidate and who hails from a part of the country the candidate has never visited. Extra points for racial diversity. For me, these nominating speeches are about as credible as the Florida election commission. It is not that anyone is lying, but Jesus couldn’t compete with these guys.

In their quest for moderatorial infamy the candidates are limited by strict campaigning rules. Before the Assembly, several churchrelated publications offer bios and interviews. Aside from that, the candidates are shackled by a $1000 spending limit. They are most visible to commissioners on the first day of the Assembly as they occupy assigned on-deck circles in the convention hall. They stand there for hours pressing the flesh with everyone walking by like a pig kissing booth at the county fair. Rumor has it that one candidate’s traveling entourage included a hair stylist and makeup artist to keep him looking decent and in order.

Following the nominating speeches the candidates deliver their personal testimonies while their supporters hum How Great Thou Art.

In the final hour, the candidates take turns responding to commissioners’ questions from the floor. This part is supposedly spontaneous but it seems obvious that most questions are planted. It was a treat observing each candidate jockey for the pole position like doubleclutching Indy drivers. I watched with amazement as the guy from the right edged imperceptibly left, as the guy from the left slid slowly right, and as the guy from nowhere spiraled swiftly into orbit.

The election was held and on the second ballot it was announced that our moderator for the next two years would be the hyperhyphenated Rick Ufford-Chase. Oh my, I realized, we’ve just elected Superboy to run the church. My love affair with our new moderator lasted until Wednesday when he suggested [and I have witnesses] that pastors should negotiate for lower salaries. Fine, bud, I’ll let you explain that to my wife.

The Presbyterians were one of the first large groups to use Richmond’s two block long Convention Center. It was immediately obvious the Convention Center staff had not yet sorted out the climate control system in their brand new facility. For the first four days we simply froze. I’m not talking slight chill, I’m talking frostbite inducing conditions that would make a penguin sneeze. Hooded sweatshirts were selling like saccharin at a Weight Watchers meeting. It gave a whole new meaning to the term frozen chosen.

My GA experience started well before the gavel fell in Richmond with reams of papers and reports mailed to me from Louisville. In addition to the official dispatches were numerous letters and mailings from individuals, former moderators, church sessions and interest groups from across the denomination all telling me how I should vote if I were a true Presbyterian. I even received an anonymous voice mail from a breathy gentleman offering "dirt" on one of the candidates for moderator. Oddly, the dirt was common knowledge. Nonetheless, the call was sufficiently titillating that I’m selling recordings of the message on the internet.

Sherard Edington, first time GA commissioner, is pastor of Old Hickory Church in Middle Tennessee. He can be reached at sherard(at)ohpc.org.