The Creed: Thoughts from DuBose and others

In conversations about liturgical revision (which, unfortunately it seems, will indeed be happening sooner rather than later in the Episcopal Church), one persistent topic is the place of the Nicene Creed in worship. According to the Book of Common Prayer (1979), it is to be said by all in public worship on every Sunday and Major Feast. Some would prefer we not say it as often, and some think we should not have to say it at all! At a recent forum on Prayer Book revision, the Rev. Ruth Myers "described the Nicene Creed as 'a stumbling block for many,' and wondered if a creed is necessary during the Eucharist." Several thoughtful priests and lay persons have been discussing this online. From my perspective, here are some highlights:

Fr. Robert Hendrickson writes:

In order to be included in something then something must have some sort of definable shape, belief, boundary, norm, or pattern. The notion that if we recite the Creed on Sundays then we are excluding someone somehow misses an essential point – excluding them from what?
For all the talk about inclusion in the Church the sad thing to me is that this has become a cheap thing – we are too often not including people in anything more challenging, life-changing, or controversial than a New York Times subscription. The only thing the Church includes anyone in is in the life, death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ – the mystery at the heart of the Creed.
(read the rest here)

Fr. Christopher Arnold, in relating a story about a parish discussion he once took part in, writes:

The younger generations, on the other hand, felt more cordial about the Creed. I’ll divulge that I was in this group. For several of us, the Creed was something concrete and positive, a constructive statement of faith. Unlike the older Christians in the room, the younger ones had been raised in secular and skeptical surroundings. Many of our peers were dismissive or hostile towards Christianity, preferring Buddhism, neo-Paganism, or nothing. We spoke about how we had struggled to arrive at the faith that the Creed summarized. To stand and declare it on a Sunday was to affirm again the faith that we had discovered to be life-giving. I remember one young woman saying that she didn’t agree with everything in the Creed, but she respected that the Creed represented the faith of the wider church, and she was working hard to join it.
My point is not to say that one group is right and another wrong, but to draw attention to how our feelings about parts of the liturgy are possibly cultural pendulums swinging through their arcs. If the Creed is removed because one generation feels uncomfortable with it, how will the next generation get a chance to see if the Creed is necessary for the support of their faith?
(read the rest here)

And two reactions in the comments section following Fr. Chris's post:

Without the faith of the creeds, and the strong identity it ideally inculcates, even in the midst of disagreement with it, a church becomes either a poorly run social service organization, so wasteful that it should be shut down, or a boring fraternal organization, and deserves the death that ultimately awaits it. (Fr. Jody Howard)

and

The fact (that) the Episcopal Church is relatively hospitable to skeptics doesn’t mean that we don’t intend to be a branch of the one holy catholic and apostolic Church. Those who accept our relative open-mindedness and hospitality ought not to ask those of us who affirm the historic faith without hesitation to deform the liturgy by removing the Nicene Creed. (Fr. Bill Carroll)  

In reading and reflecting over all this, I was reminded of something I recently read by William Porcher DuBose. In his 1911 lectures at the University of the South (later published as Turning Points in My Life), DuBose stated:

All the truth of the Church is not yet mine: there are points of it that I know to be true, because I have been all the time approximating to them; but I am still waiting, and shall probably die waiting, for them to become true to me. Truth is not an individual thing; no one of us has all of it--even all of it that is known. Truth is a corporate possession, and the knowledge of it is a corporate process. It enters slowly and painfully into the common sense, the common experience, the common use and life of men. There is a corporate, catholic, Christianity, actually extant on this earth, which no one or no set of us holds all of, or perfectly even what we do hold ... the full actualization of  Christianity will come only with the fruition of the world's destiny, in the end of the ages. When a man learns that, he will be modest either about his own truth or about impugning other people's truth.

It is this very understanding of truth, and of the truth of the Christian faith, which led DuBose to comment specifically on the Creed, and its place in the Church:

I can accept the Church's, or the Catholic, Creed; and could with good conscience accept it, even though it were not yet all my own creed, or though I could not see my way to ever making all the incidents or details of it my own. Shall Christ not be mine, and I His, because I cannot see all the steps of my way to Him?--or all the steps of His way to me?  ...  We may confess the faith as the Church's faith and profess the life as the Church's life, but to start out with saying that either of them is all personally ours is either ignorance or hypocrisy.  On the one hand, therefore, I would say that for one to suppose that, because the general or catholic creed of the Church is not in every point and particular, in every interpretation or understanding of it, his own personal and actual creed, he has therefore at once to teach or preach against it, or else to avow and proclaim his dissent as to read himself or be read out of the Church, is illogical and unreasonable. And on the other hand, I should say that for the Church to require and demand that, ipso facto and instanter, her fully developed and complete creed should be ex animo and in every jot and tittle the personal and actual creed of every member, or of any member, is equally irrational and impossible. There ought to be, at the least, as much of divine patience and tenderness on the part of the Church toward the incomplete and even the willful believer, as there out to be of modest deference and obedience on the part of the individual believer to the reasonable and rightful authority of the Church. 

DuBose's own reasonable and nuanced thought in this regard has helped me to be more honest and charitable when it comes to discussing the Creed with those who are uncomfortable affirming it (or parts thereof)--but his approach simultaneously affirms, I believe, the fundamental importance of the Creed as "the Church's faith," faithfully leading us into the completeness of truth, though as yet "no one of us has all of it." It is for this reason that I believe the '79 Prayer Book was right to restore the confession of the Nicene Creed at the celebration of every Sunday Eucharist (previous Prayer Books had allowed for its occasional omission, provided that it was at least said on principal feast days).

Lastly, DuBose's understanding that "truth is a corporate possession" is reinforced by the '79 Prayer Book's restoration of the plural form ("We believe in one God ..."), which is true to the original language of the Creed (previous Prayer Books had read, "I believe ... "). The wisdom of this language was demonstrated to me recently when a clergy friend was recounting an experience he had as a young ordinand. Nearing ordination, he admitted to his spiritual advisor that he did not think he could in good conscience fully affirm a particular article of the Creed. His advisor replied, "Affirm it, and I will believe it for you, and you may trust that one day you will believe it, too." This, to me, is a beautiful illustration of Charles Williams' idea of "coinherence." So, for example, when St. Paul writes that we are to bear one another's burdens (Gal. 6:2), there is a deep spiritual truth discerned--we are, mystically and truly, bound together in Christ, in all things. And so one now truly, like Christ, suffers with and for another, rejoices with and for another, believes with and, at times even believes for, on behalf of, another who is in the midst of doubt. And so the Church, composed as she is of such diverse individuals, is increasingly being brought to unity in and by Christ, as she confesses, "We believe ..."  


Peace of Christ.

Heschel: The Supremacy of Pathos

From The Prophets, by Abraham Heschel:

"The central achievement of biblical religion was to remove the veil of anonymity from the workings of history. There are no ultimate laws, no eternal ideas. The Lord alone is ultimate and eternal. The laws are His creation, and the moral ideas are not entities apart from Him; they are His concern. Indeed, the personalization of the moral idea is the indispensable assumption of prophetic theology. Mercy, grace, repentance, forgiveness, all would be impossible if the moral principle were held to be superior to God.  God's call to man, which resounds so frequently in the utterances of the prophets, presupposes an ethos based, not upon immutable principles, but rather upon His eternal concern. God's repenting a decision which was based on moral grounds clearly shows the supremacy of pathos." 

Frankly, it is a thought provoking passage for me, because the pathos of God is something I sometimes struggle with. I must admit that my image of God (and, I think, the Church's understanding of God from a very early date, and hence the image most Christians have) has been formed for better or worse not only by Holy Scripture but by ancient Greek ideas of God (not popular Greek religion, but the philosophers). Specifically, Greek ideas about God's immutability (i.e. "unchangeableness") can be supported by some specific verses, but looking at the whole of Scripture I think it is not possible to state confidently that God is "unmoved." In other words, God as depicted in the Bible does indeed seem to change his mind, to "relent concerning calamity" out of his mercy and love for us, notwithstanding the demands of strict justice.

This is seen particularly in the prophets, where God often seems overcome by pathos. We may say that this simply represents a human attempt at understanding the infinite God, but it is Scripture nonetheless, so I feel compelled to attend to it. A great example is Hosea, where the recurring image is one of "God, the jilted husband"--an emotional image if ever there was one! A climactic passage comes in Hosea chapter 11. After ten chapters of indictment against Judah and Israel for unfaithfulness justly deserving God's imminent wrath (occasionally punctuated by seemingly contrary assertions of tenderness), the LORD declares, "How can I give you up, O Ephraim? How can I surrender you, O Israel? . . . My heart is turned over within me, all my compassions are kindled. I will not execute my fierce anger, I will not destroy Ephraim again" (Hos. 11:8-9).

At the risk of sounding crude, the image of God in Hosea strikes me as almost "hormonal," which is not how I would ordinarily think of God. Yet, as Heschel argues, without the supremacy of the pathos of God over immutable moral principles, there would be no mercy, forgiveness, grace--and so I must confess profound gratitude for such pathos! 

Thornton: St. Anselm, a Guide for Anglicanism Today

 
    Come now, little man,
turn aside for a while from your daily employment,
escape for a moment from the tumult of your thoughts.
    Put aside your weighty cares,
    let your burdensome distractions wait,
    free yourself awhile for God
    and rest awhile in him.
Enter the inner chamber of your soul,
    shut out everything except God
    and that which can help you in seeking him,
    and when you have shut the door, seek him.
Now, my whole heart, say to God,
       'I seek your face,
    Lord, it is your face I seek.'

                                 *

       O Lord my God,

    teach my heart where and how to seek you,

    where and how to find you ...

                                 *

    I confess Lord, with thanksgiving,

    that you have made me in your image,

so that I can remember you, think of you, and love you.

But that image is so worn and blotted out by faults,

    so darkened by the smoke of sin,

    that it cannot do that for which it was made,

    unless you renew and refashion it.

Lord, I am not trying to make my way to your height,

for my understanding is in no way equal to that,

but I do desire to understand a little of your truth

    which my heart already believes and loves.

I do not seek to understand so that I may believe,

    but I believe so that I may understand;

       and what is more,

I believe that unless I do believe I shall not understand.

~ excerpt from Chapter 1 of the Proslogion by St. Anselm of Canterbury

Saint Anselm was Archbishop of Canterbury in the late 11th and early 12th centuries.  Among his writings is the Proslogion (meaning colloquy, or conversation, in this instance between Anselm and God).  The full title given to the work by Anselm himself is Faith in Search of Understanding.

Martin Thornton, in his book English Spirituality, identifies Anselm as the father-founder of the "English School" of Christianity.  In Anselm, we have the first great exemplar of the "affective-speculative synthesis" in theology.  By this, Thornton means that we find in Anselm's writings neither solely passionate, emotional, experiential religious devotion (the affective), nor a coldly logical, purely rational philosophic pursuit (the speculative); rather, we find a true synthesis of the two.  Thornton writes,

The affective-speculative synthesis does not mean an exact fifty-fifty balance, nor is it attained either by adding an occasional devout phrase to a theological work, or by interposing one or two quotations from the Fathers in an affective meditation.  It is a synthesis, not merely a mixture, and the true synthesis is possible to different temperaments.  Everyone has a natural bias to one side or the other, and spiritual health is attained by allowing this bias to be permeated by the other aspect through mental and emotional discipline. 

St. Anselm is often misunderstood precisely because his critics fail to grasp this synthesis, and instead want to peg him as a philosopher in a more post-Enlightenment sense.  For example, the famous, much debated and often criticized "ontological argument" (God is that than which nothing greater can be thought) comes from the Proslogion.  But it was not intended to be a proof of the existence of God in the modern, philosophical sense.  Rather, it was a spiritual-intellectual insight born out the experience of fervent prayer, a desire to know and love God better: faith seeking understanding.  As Thornton puts it, we may well imagine the affective theologian preaching to an audience with a desire to elicit an emotional response, while the speculative theologian is alone in his study, in company only with his books and the keenness of his mind, "but whatever one reads of Anselm, he can only be visualized on his knees, not trying to do anything but worship God.  Approached in this way, Anselm still has much to say to modern English spirituality."  

For St. Anslem, the journey begins with the gift of faith, and continues by and in that faith.  This point is fundamental (I believe that unless I do believe I shall not understand).  But it is not a blind faith.  It is a faith that sincerely and fearlessly seeks understanding.  Truly, we are in need of the example of this saint now as much as ever.  Thornton concludes,

Thus Anselm speaks to modern Anglicanism: we are right to grapple with the deep mysteries of the faith; "blind faith" is not loyalty but sloth.  If doubts arise in the mind, they are to be calmly faced and resolved as the struggle continues, they are hurdles to be jumped as we progress toward understanding and love.  That is truly Anglican, for it is neither "free thought" in the sense that anyone has the right to believe what he likes, nor does it make dogma anything but dogmatic, but it does not impute sin to honest inquiry.

Thus the pastoral answer to intellectual doubt is not that it is wicked to doubt the dogmas of the Church, nor that it does not very much matter.  The answer is in the acceptance of a creative challenge.  So, to a spiritual guide, such difficulties should be neither shocking nor unimportant.  They should be seen as positive not negative, a call to further action: it should be "let us see how to use this" rather than "oh but you must trust the Church" or "try not to worry".  What Anselm is saying, in Sunday school language, is when in doubt go and tell God about it, and keep on arguing: the result could be another Proslogion.

The Anglican Church, therefore, is wise not to promulgate a series of new dogmas, to be held on pain of ecclesiastical censure.  It is very unwise to allow contrary opinions on fundamental doctrine.  Anglicanism needs no Index of prohibited books, not through lack of discipline but because of its Anselmic spirit.  But it is both foolish and unfair not to give positive pronouncements as to what Baptism, Confirmation, the Real Presence and the Virgin Conception really mean, because such dogmatic statements, rather than inhibiting reason and understanding, are the basis of them.  One cannot "believe in order to understand" when one does not know what to believe in the first place; one cannot even indulge in the creative process of doubting.

Peace of Christ.

  

     

Williams: Mary, Type of the Holy

Father in heaven, by your grace the virgin mother of your incarnate Son was blessed in bearing him, but still more blessed in keeping your word:  Grant us who honor the exaltation of her lowliness to follow the example of her devotion to your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

~ Collect for the Feast of The Visitation (BCP pg. 240)

The LORD is high above all nations,
     and his glory above the heavens.
Who is like the LORD our God, who sits enthroned on high,
    but stoops to behold the heavens and the earth?
~Psalm 113:4-5

Rowan Williams, from Ponder These Things: Praying with Icons of the Virgin:

“What we call holy in the world – a person, a place, a set of words or pictures – is so because it is a transitional place, a borderland, where the completely foreign is brought together with the familiar.  Here is somewhere that looks as if it belongs within the world we are at home in, but in fact it leads directly into strangeness … most importantly, there is the person who stands on the frontier between promise and fulfillment, between earth and heaven, between the two Testaments: Mary.  That she can be represented in so many ways, thought about and imagined in so many forms, is an indication of how deeply she speaks to us about the hope for the world’s transfiguration through Jesus; how she stands for the making strange of what is familiar and the homeliness of what is strange.  After all, it is she who literally makes a home for the Creator of all things, the strangest reality we can conceive, in her own body and in her own house, she whom we meet again and again in the Gospels struggling with the strangeness of her son, from the finding in the Temple to the station at the cross.”

Alleluia.  The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us: Come let us adore him.  Alleluia.

Wm. Temple: The Self-Assertive Christ of the Fourth Gospel

O Almighty God, whom truly to know is everlasting life: Grant us so perfectly to know thy Son Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leadeth to eternal life; through the same thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.
~ Collect for the Fifth Sunday of Easter (BCP pg. 173)

William Temple’s Readings in St. John’s Gospel is a wonderful commentary on the Fourth Gospel.  The short introduction is itself worthwhile.  I freely admit that I have a great love for this gospel.  It is a preference I share with Temple: “Let the Synoptists repeat for us as closely as they can the very words He spoke; but let St. John tune our ears to hear them.”  However, for all its beautiful imagery, spiritual comfort, and theological profundity, St. John’s Gospel has in the modern era been a book that has caused no small amount of squirming discomfort and even antipathy for some.  There are various “problems”: the long stretches of dialogue can be repetitive, Jesus often seems cryptic, the unflattering language about “the Jews” has been used as justification for anti-Semitism, etc.  Perhaps most problematic are the exclusive claims of Jesus as recorded in this gospel.  There are numerous examples, but probably the most significant is John 14:6: I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man comes unto the Father, but by me.  It’s not hard to see why such an exclusive claim would make us modern Christians uncomfortable.  The last thing we want is to be seen as narrow-minded and intolerant.  Intolerance is, of course, the one thing modern, secular society will not tolerate.  I remember several years ago seeing a priest on television say that she believed Jesus was the way, the truth, and the life for her personally, “but that doesn’t mean he is for everybody.”  More recently, none other than the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church has been criticized for hedging on the question of whether Jesus is really the only way to God.  It just doesn’t sound nice! 

Be that as it may, from the perspective of Christian doctrine, these exclusive claims are undeniable.  It is not just St. John’s Gospel, but the whole of the New Testament that asserts the utter uniqueness of Jesus Christ, the God-Man.  The Incarnation, the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, is the central event in the story of humanity, the hinge of history, “the culmination of the ages” and “the fullness of time”, to borrow St. Paul’s language.  Accordingly, as St. Peter preached at Pentecost, “there is no other name under heaven whereby men can be saved.”  This does not mean, however, that Christians should be narrow-minded or arrogant; quite the contrary.  Neither should we feel obligated to dismiss all other claims to wisdom and truth, for all truth is God’s truth.  Concerning John 1:9, There was the light, the true light, which enlighteneth every man – coming into the world, Temple comments:

“From the beginning the divine light has shone.  Always it was coming into the world; always it enlightened every man alive in his reason and conscience … and this is what is fully and perfectly expressed in Christ.  So it may be truly said that the conscience of the heathen man is the voice of Christ within him – though muffled by his ignorance.  All that is noble in the non-Christian systems of thought, or conduct, or worship is the work of Christ upon them and within them.  By the Word of God – that is to say, by Jesus Christ – Isaiah, and Plato, and Zoroaster, and Buddha, and Confucius conceived and uttered such truths as they declared.  There is only one divine light; and every man in his measure is enlightened by it.”

And so we may believe that others may come to God in ways we would not immediately recognize or acknowledge as “Christian”, and yet to the extent that anyone comes to God, it is by and through Christ, the Word of God, the “one divine light.”  To claim otherwise, that Christ is just one option among many paths to God, is a clear rejection of the gospel as presented in the New Testament and the whole of the Christian tradition. 

In summary, as Temple ably states in the introduction:

“We may meet the complaint that in this Gospel the Lord is presented as self-assertive.  Certainly we must admit that if the claims which He here makes are not true they are intolerably arrogant.  If He is a very good man completely surrendered to the Spirit of God, He cannot, without offence, speak as the Johannine Christ speaks.  But if He is God come in the flesh He not only may, He must proclaim Himself as the fount of salvation.  Love, not self-concern, demands that He should call men to Himself as alone the revelation of the Father.  At the same time, it is appropriate that He should do this either when He is expressly challenged, as the religious leaders at Jerusalem challenged Him, or in conversation with His intimate disciples; and it is precisely in these circumstances that the Fourth Gospel presents Him as making these claims … If, when all is said, any still feel a trace of self-assertion in the sense which involves moral defect, it may be held that the Evangelist has imported into his record of what the Lord said some of his own devoted eagerness.  But I find no reason for recourse to such a plea.  Those who admit, and wish to proclaim, all that the Lord is here represented as saying about Himself, will feel gratitude, not resentment, that the words are recorded; those who do not admit their truth are bound to resent, or at least to regret, their presence in this profoundly sympathetic presentation of the Lord.”

Peace of Christ.   

A Book Review and Reflection: "Those Episkopols"

I read Those Episkopols, by the Rev. Dr. Dennis Maynard, as part of an on-going adult Sunday school class at my parish church.  For the most part I enjoyed it.  The author presents a short, informal, and readable introduction to the Episcopal Church, based on his own experience as a priest in the Church over the last four decades.  He writes that “This book is written out of a profound love and appreciation for the Episcopal Church” (pg. 6) and that “the preceding chapters are dedicated to answering some of the most frequently asked questions this priest has received from inquirers.  This is not intended to be a comprehensive study of Anglicanism or The Episcopal Church.” (pg. 87) 

Recognizing the book for what it is and what it is not, I felt the author did a fairly commendable job, though there were a few typos that I found annoying, and at times the organization and content of the chapters seemed a bit haphazard.  The author’s writing style was sometimes overly repetitive, in my opinion.  My greatest criticism, however, concerns the perceived demeanor in which the content is presented.  Perhaps it is inevitable that a book of this nature will rely heavily on generalizations and stereotypes, but I was bothered by the extent to which the author contrasted the Episcopal Church with other churches, stating essentially that “we are not like those other Christians, thank God”.  A prominent example is his mention on more than one occasion of the Episcopal Church as “the thinking person’s religion”, thereby implying that all other branches of the Church discourage their people from approaching their faith intelligently, curiously, and rigorously.  I understand why people say this, but the broader implication is ludicrous, and this kind of caricature is not accurate, charitable, or becoming of a church which prides itself on resisting the urge to give simplistic answers to complex questions (as Rev. Dr. Maynard asserts elsewhere).

That said, there was much that I did enjoy in the book.  The author does a fine job presenting a compelling view of the life and culture of the Episcopal Church, and there were plenty of phrases and paragraphs that eloquently and succinctly expressed the reasons why I also love this church.  For example, I loved what the author had to say about The Book of Common Prayer:

When we come together for common prayer we are very intentional about the utilization of this book.  It contains the wisdom of the ages.  Some of these prayers are thousands of years of age.  Some of them were familiar to the lips of Jesus.  These prayers are most appropriate for public worship because these are the prayers that we have all agreed on.  We hold these prayers in common. When we pray these words we are verbalizing words that we have all agreed on.  We all believe these prayers so we can pray them without hesitation and in one voice … Basically, The Book of Common Prayer protects us from one another’s creativity, political leanings, prejudices, bad theology and current passion. (pg. 46)

And:

The Book of Common Prayer solidly ties us to the historic Catholic understanding of worship.  The Prayer Book is not an alternative service book.  If you’re going to be an Episcopalian you will use the words of The Book of Common Prayer in the services of worship.  The Book of Common Prayer, not doctrines and dogmas, is the most visible unifying symbol in the Episcopal Church. (pg. 54)

I can stand up and shout amen to that!

There were also passages in which I heartily agree with Rev. Dr. Maynard, even as I remain skeptical about the extent to which his assertions are in fact accurate.  Indeed, the preceding excerpt about the BCP could be considered an example; though I think it is correct to say his observations here are true generally, the use of alternative liturgical resources (e.g. Enriching Our Worship) and even shameless disregard for the rubrics of the BCP seem to have become more frequent in TEC today, a trend I personally find troubling.  Another example:

Because the Holy Eucharist is a great mystery Episcopalians resist any effort to introduce sentimentalism into the service.  We even become hostile to any effort to make the service of Holy Communion faddish or cute.  Our English heritage becomes very apparent when it comes to diminishing this great mystery.  Anglicans steadfastly believe that the celebration of the Lord’s Supper must be done with decency and order. (pg. 55)

In reading that, unfortunately, I couldn’t help but think of the appearance a few years ago of various “themed Eucharists” (e.g. Seuss-charist, Clown-charist, Pirate-charist, and any other of which I am mercifully unaware).  Of course, it’s true that these travesties are not reflective of the whole of TEC, but rather got attention and some much deserved criticism for their astounding irreverence and incomprehensibly bad taste.  But the fact that enough Episcopalians somewhere though this was a good idea is still disconcerting.  Thankfully, it seems that fad was short-lived and very limited.

Toward the end the book, the Rev. Dr. Maynard offers some thoughts about the Episcopal Church’s focus on welcome: “The Episcopal Church welcomes you”. It’s a mantra that can be controversial, in that we run the risk of turning our church into an organization of bland, purposeless gatherings if we go so far as to subject everything (including the revealed truths of the very faith we proclaim) beneath a generic “welcome”. Such a welcome offers no transformation of life or hope of heaven. While the author acknowledges as much when he writes “there is a need in the world for the Church to hold up the plumb line of God … standards against which we must measure our behavior” (pg. 84) he nevertheless affirms this attitude of radical welcome.

If God is calling the Episcopal Church to be the branch of His Body that places love above judgment and proclamation above prophecy, than it may well be the role that we need to embrace with enthusiasm. The voices reminding us of our sinfulness and the need to condemn sin are indeed plentiful … Perhaps God is calling the Episcopal Church to bid welcome to those who would not feel welcome any place else. (pg. 85)

I have begun to feel more at peace about the Episcopal Church and her future, despite my disagreements and disappointments with much of the current leadership and their vision (or lack thereof). Because, like the author, I am suspecting that who we are now as a church may indeed be a reflection of God’s calling, to be a church that errs on the side of generosity and openness. Undoubtedly, sometimes we’ll get it wrong, perhaps go too far in our attempts to accommodate or incorporate; accordingly, we must always move humbly, with fear and trembling. But if the Episcopal Church sometimes speaks too little about sin or fails to proclaim her doctrine with sufficient clarity, there are plenty of other churches that have and will continue to more than compensate in that regard. So perhaps the generosity of TEC is a needed corrective. I do believe that the whole of the Church (Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox) is needed if we are to more fully apprehend and enter into the life of God. Each branch of the Church Catholic possesses its own unique strengths and insights, and we all must learn from one another as we embrace each other in love. The openness of the Episcopal Church can indeed be a source of frustration and difficulty, because it means we are willing to live with questions, to entertain variant ideas about God and the faith of the Church, etc., while still seeking to maintain communion with one another. We are in the midst of an era in TEC and in the Anglican Communion when those bonds of communion are being severely tried amidst many disagreements. Many have felt called to leave TEC or the Anglican family altogether. I know there are those who feel that they have finally “come home to Orthodoxy” or at last found “the fullness of the faith” in Rome (while not willing to concede the point, I am, in good Anglican fashion, willing to entertain the idea that these may be correct). But I also believe and have heard testimony that many of those who have journeyed thus would probably never have entered the Church at all had they not first found a sincere welcome in the Episcopal Church. I think it is indeed true that no small number “who would not feel welcome any place else” have been welcomed into the Episcopal Church, and have there encountered God in His people and the Lord Jesus Christ, and have there been born anew into the family of the Church and introduced to the riches of her tradition.

Lastly, the Rev. Dr. Maynard closes with a heartfelt testimony of his love for the Episcopal Church, despite her recent trials and schisms.  I close with his words now, because I feel like they could just as truly be my own:

I love this Church’s determination to balance scripture, tradition, and reason.  I love her majestic worship, the mystery of her sacraments, and the emphasis on God’s love and forgiveness.  I love her courage to stand up to the forces of bigotry and to fight for the equality of all people.  I love her sensitivity to the poor, the sick, and the needy.  I love her great hymns that have outlived the catchy jingles and campfire songs of every generation …

Oh, I do get angry with this Church of ours.  I often wonder if those in authority have lost touch with reality.  I have come to fear the religion section of the newspaper lest there be another article on my beloved Church that puts us in a most unfavorable light.  I pray hardest when the bishops gather, and pray harder still when the General Convention meets.  I fear which special interest group shall prevail, and I wonder just how many more storms this old ship can endure before she does, in fact, fragment. 

I do not like all that she does.  I do not agree with all who attempt to speak for her.  There are many times I feel out of step with the rest of the band.  On occasion I do resist the newest step of marching orders.  But leave her?  Leave the Episcopal Church?  Leave the Church of my conversion, confirmation, and ordination?  No, as far afield as she may go on occasion, I could not leave her.  I love this wonderful Church.  I want to spend the rest of my life in her bosom, die in her arms, and have the faithful remember me in their prayers. (pg. 82)

Peace of Christ.