Having an open mind is one of the character traits I value most. I’ve wondered why open-mindedness seems such a rare quality these days. There is little room for nuance or complexity. Folks seem to think they have an expert opinion on everything from politics to climate change to pandemics to their favorite sports. Why are so few willing to act with curiosity rather than like experts?

This has made me wonder about my own journey toward open-mindedness. Why do I care about having an open mind? Why do I think this quality is crucial to the future of our faith?

Perhaps the explanation lies in my graduate training as a missionary. I was taught to ask questions and take the stance of a learner. This posture served me well in cross-cultural missions, and I think it serves me well as a preacher in my home country.

The original roots of my open-mindedness lie deeper than my own training. They spring from my heritage. My lineage is largely Scots-Irish. My forebears mostly settled in the rolling hills of northern West Virginia or on the Cumberland Plateau of middle Tennessee. As far back as I am aware, my family roots run deep in the restoration (or Stone-Campbell) movement.

The initial impulse of the Stone-Campbell movement was one of intellectual curiosity. Unlike the frontier revivalists of 18th-century America, Campbellites sought intellectual clarity rather than emotional fervor. Their primary desire was to build unity among all Christians. They thought peace would develop among the varying sects by honestly studying the Bible together. They truly believed that open-minded dialogue would lead to unity.

Fast-forward through the two World Wars, and the Churches of Christ, my branch of the Stone-Campbell movement, gradually drifted away from this curiosity toward a more evangelical mindset of certainty. The foci increasingly became success, growth, and power. There was a constant push to expand the brand by planting new churches and reaching more people. Instead of a unifying message, our churches became known as deeply sectarian. One of our founding mottos, “We’re not the only Christians; we’re Christians only,” had instead become the opposite – we were the only saved people.

I am a third-generation preacher. I’m proud to say that my grandfather (maternal) and father were relatively faithful to the original impulses of the Stone-Campbell movement, and their legacies stand in contrast to many other ministers of their day. Their work deeply impacts me and how I minister. They were willing to be open-minded, sometimes at great personal cost, in an era when such curiosity ran against the grain.

My grandfather, Ted Waller, spent over 50 years ministering in Ohio and West Virginia. He spent the bulk of his career in Canton, Ohio, where I was later born. He strongly believed in education and in openness to other faith traditions. He decried the “small-minded thinking” of so many church leaders, and he stood up against what he saw as a lack of grace. He believed solid teaching could lead people into better ways of belief and action.

One obvious example is his stance on divorce and remarriage. In the 1970s, the common view in our churches was a harsh one. If you divorced your spouse for any cause other than your spouse’s immorality, you could not remarry. Preachers would sometimes insist that a person who had divorced and remarried “unbiblically” would need to leave their second spouse and either return to their first spouse or remain single. Otherwise, they were living in ongoing sin for which they could not be forgiven.

My grandfather studied this issue at length and concluded that this way of thinking was erroneous. It may be a sin to leave a marriage and remarry, he granted, but such a person could receive forgiveness just as with any other sin – through the redeeming work of Jesus.

In an area-wide preachers meeting, my grandfather and some colleagues were debating the issue. He stood mostly alone in his views. Another preacher challenged him to write up his position while he would write up his own. They were to present them to the group at the next meeting. My grandfather wrote his position in a 16-page pamphlet, which I have to this day. The opposing preacher never put pen to paper, but he and his cronies read my grandfather’s tract. And they publicly excoriated him and his teaching on this issue.

My father, Larry Locke, took a slightly different path. He too was a minister in Churches of Christ for 50 years. Unlike my grandfather (his father-in-law), he wasn’t as focused on education or teaching. He wasn’t optimistic about the power of persuasion via information. Some of this might have come from his own studies in communication at Kent State University. (He happened to be on campus the day the National Guard opened fire on protesting students.) His dissertation was on the campaign rhetoric of Richard Nixon. Unlike politicians before him, Nixon employed a rhetorical strategy that was new. He told stories about actual people. He talked about issues through the lens of constituents. It was a style that others after Nixon took to new heights, but this was an important lesson for my dad.

In his sermons and ministry, my dad increasingly focused on the stories of real people in his church and community. The last 40 years of his life were in middle Tennessee, where I grew up and went to college. In the South, people appear on the surface to have it all together. My father was open-minded toward people, however, and he could see the enormous layer of brokenness and trauma in his community – alcoholism, abuse, church hypocrisy, etc.

He threw himself into Alcoholics Anonymous after church members invited him to visit. This opened many doors for outreach, especially among those who had been driven off by churches because they were “sinners” who had gotten pregnant out of wedlock, had struggled with drugs and alcohol, or had done the unforgiveable act of divorcing and remarrying. He believed that the church is a place for sinners since that is, in fact, all of us.

Many people labeled my dad as progressive, liberal, or theologically soft. He believed that people were more important than issues, and this stance came with great acclaim and ridicule. Despite presiding over a church that grew dramatically with his ministry, he was never invited as a main speaker for any major program. Yet he was known as the pastor who cared about people – even those who had made grievous mistakes. Through the years, he became like a pastor to the entire city of Lebanon, Tennessee.

From my grandfather and father, I learned to be open-minded about issues and about people, and I’m grateful for this heritage.

When I stop and wish that we all had access to such courageous role models, I reflect on the roots of the Stone-Campbell movement. We have much to draw from, if only we would do so.

Ultimately, we should all be grateful that God has kept an open mind toward us. We have given God reason to give up, but I’ve come to believe that God always keeps an open stance. May we all seek the open-mindedness of God as we join God’s kingdom work.