Circle of Hope
Recently I finished Eliza Griswold’s Circle of Hope: A Reckoning with Love, Power, and Justice in an American Church (Farrar, Straus and Giroux). It’s not an exaggeration to say it’s unlike anything I’ve ever read before.
Part of what makes it unique is the way Griswold tells the story of this church by foregrounding its four pastors, and by the degree of access these pastors granted to the author. “Every church is more than the sum of its pastors,” she acknowledges. “[But] I chose this interlinked structure of four primary subjects because it reflected the challenges facing the church, and because all four granted me permission to enter into their daily lives without asking for control over what I would write.”
It’s to the credit of these four pastors—Jonny, Julie, Rachel, and Ben—that they gave their blessing up front and, we are told, “remained committed to its completion.” I can’t imagine very many pastors who’d do the same. Nor, for that matter, would I blame them.
The story that ultimately unfolds in Circle of Hope is one of flawed and complicated figures, each with competing values and allegiances, who do their best to love each other and the people committed to their care, but simply can’t find a way to keep the church—and their friendships—from breaking apart.
As an intimate account of the demise of a church, it’s a really sad story. For decades, Circle of Hope had been a “radical outpost of Jesus followers” seeking to be faithful to God and be kind to their vulnerable neighbors in Philadelphia. With dumpster divers and vegetable-oil-converted-bus owners in their midst, there was always a certain unruly and unpredictable intensity to these connected congregations.
Members came from vastly different backgrounds, including more than a few who grew up in small towns and rural areas across Pennsylvania. I can tell you: the cultural distance between Philly and somewhere like Strasburg is far greater than the 64 miles you’ll travel by car.
The Anabaptist tradition to which the church belonged was familiar to some members but a novelty to others. Some Circle members were running away from conservative evangelical upbringings, but no two paths were exactly alike. Anabaptists, though, are a people of peace. “People could disagree while still loving one another,” Griswold writes. “Yet in these charged times, disagreement took on a new meaning.”
The dissolution of Circle of Hope is part of a broader story. The demise of Circle came at a time of—can I say it?—unprecedented convulsions in families, neighborhoods, and churches across the United States. Years of tumult, culminating in a once-in-a-century pandemic along with the murder of George Floyd, changed each and every one of us and left our country even more polarized than before. Meanwhile, people of faith continued to wrestle with and part ways over questions of sexuality and Christian faithfulness. Given these unavoidable fault lines, it has been grievous but unsurprising to witness the re-sorting of Christians into ever-narrower, theoretically “likeminded” churches. That, or a one-way trip out the door. And in the case of Circle, the shuttering of the church itself.
Even so—and this is important—Circle of Hope doesn’t leave us hopeless. Not quite. Griswold, the daughter of a former presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, doesn’t insert very much of herself into the story. But she does show up just enough to reveal something subtle but significant. Griswold is a first-rate writer, and as a seasoned reporter she has a knack for a good story. She chose to write this book, I believe, because she is first of all a PK. She knows the commitment required of pastors (and their families), how the hours can be long, whether harried or mundane. She knows how one ornery parishioner or one malfunctioning thermostat can make the whole thing a pain in the neck. She knows that in church work, control is an illusion. Or a drug.
There is a wonderful passage late in the book—I won’t spoil the context for you—where Griswold, in a moment of grief and pain, is blessed by a profound act of care by one of the pastors she has spent the last several years writing about. This caring act, in itself, is not that big of the deal, not in the scheme of things. But it’s offered in such an open-handed, second-nature kind of way, and at just the right moment. It startles her, just as it surprises us. This, Griswold writes, “among so many other unseen acts of service, is what a pastor does.”
It’s a beautiful way to honor that caring act, and it’s a truly moving way to end the book. Still, it’s hard to come away from Circle of Hope feeling particularly uplifted. We know that the same confounding challenges that tore Circle apart will continue to put a strain on churches everywhere, in all their glorious and maddening particularity—including yours, including mine. There’s no getting around it. The only way is through.
So may we be patient. May we be kind. And guided by the Spirit, may we seek to be instruments of peace.
