Re-blog: GAFCON statement: Saying 'no' to on-going theological reflection?

In response to a recent GAFCON statement, the blog "Catholicity and Covenant" posted a short reflection which I found well placed and thoughtful.  For me, this is yet further confirmation that, despite my frustrations with TEC, I would not find myself at home in a "continuing Anglican" church.  A church that declares that a mere decade or so is sufficient to pray, study, and reflect over an issue of great importance, and so, in effect, we don't need to waste time on this anymore, is not the place for me.  I am saddened by the extent to which TEC has also moved away from a truly comprehensive and encompassing vision of the Church, in practice if not in theory.  Nevertheless, such a vision still remains in TEC, while I do not think the same could be said of, for example, the ACNA.  For this reason, and bolstered both by my belief in the faithfulness of God and by my conversations with and observations of other young leaders in TEC, I am hopeful for the future of the Episcopal Church as a place where the great broadness of the gospel of our limitless God is grounded in the catholic faith that we have received from the Apostles and witnesses to whom God in Jesus Christ was made manifest.

Read the post from "Catholicity and Covenant" here.

Human Sexuality and the Church: A Time for Prayer, Study, and Reflection

(Preface:  I’ve been periodically toying with this post in various forms for nearly a year.  Because it deals with a controversial topic, and controversy ain’t my thing, I’ve intentionally delayed in publishing it.  I do so now for reasons which I hope will be apparent.  The thoughts here expressed are the product of a fair amount of reflection, but not as of yet a great deal of prayer and study.  Accordingly, please bear in mind the preliminary, rambling nature of this post: these are not fully formed conclusions, by any means.  I have tried to present these thoughts with honesty and humility, and I sincerely hope that nothing I have here stated causes hurt to any reader.  If I am disappointed in this hope, and if you feel so led, I would greatly value your input to help me understand that hurt, and how I can proceed with greater compassion.)  

A Prayer for Guidance
O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgment, and light riseth up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what thou wouldest have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in thy light we may see light, and in thy straight path may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

I have generally not supported the efforts within the Episcopal Church to see variant sexual orientations accepted as healthy, God-ordained expressions of human sexuality.  I am not homophobic, and I certainly bear no hatred toward such persons.  I recognize that there are people within the Church, baptized members of Christ, who feel themselves genetically inclined to same-sex attraction, some of whom have formed committed relationships accordingly.  I know such individuals, and consider them friends and brothers and sisters in Christ.  They should be welcomed in the Church as members of the Church, and invited to partake of the life of the Church as they seek to live out their faith in the world.  But there is a difference between a community of sinners welcoming sinners and a community of sinners saying 'we have no sin'.  My views are primarily based upon what seems to me to be the fairly clear opposition of both Scripture and tradition on these issues.  While many proponents for full LGBT affirmation seem to simply dismiss Church tradition as the misguided ignorance of bygone eras which no longer have much to say to us, they have gone to great lengths to demonstrate how homosexuality can be viewed as compatible with Scripture, but I have thus far not found such arguments very convincing.  They seem to me to be strained interpretations to justify an already agreed upon way of thinking and acting.  While there are also, I believe, rational arguments which may be mounted against the LGBT movement in the Church, there are certainly also well-reasoned arguments in support of the same.  In any event, I do not find these purely rational arguments, whether against or for, to carry as much weight in the context of the Church's wrestling with these issues.  This is because I think the idea, commonly expressed, of the Anglican tradition's 'three-legged stool' as consisting of three entirely equal sources of revelation and authority is not actually accurate.  The ideal that I think has held true for most of the history of the Church is Scripture as the foundation, its teachings interpreted through the use of our God-given reason, within the community of Christ that is the Church (i.e. tradition).  It's only in recent decades that we have seen reason (often of a very individual, experiential sort) in the ascendant, sometimes even over and against Scripture and tradition.  (I should note, I have read Hooker only very modestly, and I have not yet studied Anglican history and theology intensively; does this seem to be an accurate analysis, or am I off track here?)  In fact, I think there are indeed strong arguments, speaking strictly as regards reason and experience, for full inclusion of LGBT persons in society.  Consequently, I do not generally oppose same-sex civil unions, and other such rights as a matter of state policy.  But as to the question of how the Church should approach this issue, I am more conflicted.

  

One thing that troubles me is what may be seen as a double-standard of sorts.  First, permit me to go off on a tangent.  As a teacher and student of history, I am much opposed to the overly simplistic parallels so often drawn between different issues and events.  For example, the U.S. conflicts in Vietnam and Afghanistan -- similar, yes; 'exact same thing', no.  No issue or event is ever identical to another, and we do ourselves a disservice when we gloss over these differences.  Another example, and more to the point: more than once, in observing not so cordial online ‘conversations’ over questions of human sexuality, I've read charges to the effect of, ‘You gay-bashers are the same ones who used the Bible to justify slavery back in the day!’ Well, not necessarily. Those are two quite different issues. Okay, back on topic.

The possibility of such over-simplification notwithstanding, here’s what troubles me: speaking generally, the rationale which keeps me from supporting the normalizing of same-sex relations in the Church (i.e. opposition of Scripture and tradition, despite some reasonable arguments to the contrary within the context of a broader societal shift on the issue) is precisely the same rationale which can be used to argue against the practice of the ordination of women.The ordination of women, however, has never bothered me (my Anglo-Catholic bent goes only so far).  Perhaps it is because I've grown up in a time when this debate has largely already been decided, at least within the Episcopal Church.  I think it's also because I have personally known several women priests, by whom I have been immensely blessed.  In my interaction with these women, I believe strongly that I have experienced Christ present in His true ministers.

So, what does this logical incongruity portend for my views on TEC’s trajectory regarding human sexuality?  Well, I’m not sure yet, but I intend to embark on a focused time of prayer and study on this issue as I begin my summer.  (I’ve also never really studied the Biblical and theological underpinnings of the move to ordain women; probably something else I should get to sooner rather than later).  I feel that the time is right for me to engage in such a study, primarily because I am at the beginning of the process of seeking ordination in the Episcopal Church, and I want to be very honest and transparent throughout that process.  I think it would in some measure be irresponsible, or at least ill-advised, for me to continue further in the ordination process without having a more solid understanding of where I stand on issues of human sexuality in the life of the Church, and why.  To this end, I’m currently putting together a reading list; any suggestions would be appreciated.*

It may seem odd that I have not long ago settled this question in my mind.  There are a couple of reasons why I have put it off.  Perhaps the primary reason is not a very good one: by nature, I’m pretty averse to conflict, and this issue is as contentious as they come.  As an observer of the debate (sometimes it’s a conversation, but very often it’s a no-holds-barred debate), I’ve heard plenty of vitriol from both sides, and that grieves me.  It doesn’t strike me as Christian, and for that reason it’s not a debate I’ve been eager to wade into.  Fr. Matt Marino, who blogs over at The Gospel Side, said something a while back that really resonated with me:

"It is a difficult choice we are making as a church. 1/3 of our church sees the sexuality conversation as a justice issue. Justice must be stood for. 1/3 see it as an issue of revealed truth which therefore must be opposed. 1/3 wonder what will be left when the justice people and the truth people are done with all of this."

That pretty well expresses my view at this point, wondering what will be left after the dust settles.  And it also summarizes the second and more meaningful reason why I haven’t devoted myself to taking a stand in the debate.  Honestly, I just don’t view it as that important.  I’m sure that sounds harsh to those who are LGBT and to their close friends and family, and naïve to those who feel that this is indeed a fight for the soul of orthodoxy in the Church.  I think I can understand both of those responses, but for myself, definitive statements about human sexuality are not really at the heart of the gospel.  It seems that this issue has been blown quite out of proportion, and caused far more indignation all around than it ever should have warranted.   I’m quite willing to allow for different views within the Church – I don’t think answering this question ‘correctly’ should determine whether or not one is welcome in the Household of God.  To clarify, I’m definitely not an advocate for an ‘anything goes as long as we’re honest’ approach to Church doctrine and discipline.   It’s not possible to have true community without some boundaries, i.e. some degree of agreement and unity.  But I think we find such boundaries in the historic Creeds, built as they are upon the foundation of the Scriptures, and agreed upon by the undivided Church.  This is the summation of our common, catholic faith.  It is this faith that is presented so beautifully in the Book of Common Prayer. (Incidentally, this is also why I find it so disturbing when we have bishops and priests who cast doubt on or openly reject the Creeds, or who seem to have little regard for the authority of the prayer book.)  As one who has grown in love and devotion for Jesus through just this faith, in just this church, I sincerely hope that I will continue to find a welcoming home here in TEC, as I always have, regardless of where I may find myself on this issue after a period of prayer and study.

I would greatly value your prayers as I begin this endeavor.

Peace.




* My reading list so far:

Church in Crisis: The Gay Controversy and the Anglican Communion - Oliver O'Donovan

Homosexuality and the Bible: Two Views - Robert A. J. Gagnon & Dan O. Via

Reasonable and Holy: Engaging Same-Sexuality - Tobias S. Haller

Washed and Waiting: Reflections on Christian Faithfulness and Homosexuality - Wesley Hill

Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gays-vs.-Christians Debate - Justin Lee

A Conversation at the Hall of Men, and Reflection on the Same

(The Hall of Men is a bi-monthly fellowship of men who gather for food and drink, and to encourage and challenge each other in the faith.  It's a diverse group of Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholics, and Protestants, who all find unity in Christ, and who always express sincere love for one another.  I discovered the group about a year ago, at a time when I was feeling a deep need for just such a community of fellowship and formation.  It has been a great blessing to me.)

My brother and I were talking with S and C after most of the crowd had gone.  W mentioned that I was planning on becoming a priest.
'Oh, really?  What church?'
'Episcopal.'
We talked a bit more, just getting to know each other.  S and C asked if we were both raised in the Episcopal Church.
C asked, 'So, do you not feel out of place here?  I mean, since everyone is so conservative?'
I don't really think of the Hall of Men as a typically conservative gathering.  Rather, I think it's pretty uniquely open-minded, which I'd say is necessary for a truly ecumenical fellowship, which the Hall of Men certainly is.  I told him I didn't feel out of place at all, but that I would probably be considered pretty conservative myself, at least by current Episcopalian standards.  C asked how I managed this, staying in an increasingly liberal church when I don't self-identify as a liberal.  I told him I hadn't really worked all that out yet.  But that I very much do want to be a part of the Anglican Communion, and TEC remains the official Anglican church in North America, as far as Canterbury is concerned.  I explained that the Communion is very important to me, since I think of myself as an ecumenist.  It's this church that has always been home to me.  And as regards our official doctrine, i.e. the BCP, it remains thoroughly orthodox, despite the recent decisions and trajectory of General Convention and various vocal leaders in TEC.
C, as I knew, was previously a Methodist pastor.  His experience in seminary was extremely disillusioning, and that frustration continued after his ordination and during his time as a minister.  He has since been received into the Orthodox Church as a layman.
C said he felt positively ostracized in seminary.  'Man, they made me feel like I was George W. Bush or something.  And I'm not that conservative.  I mean, I didn't support the war or anything.'
He continued, 'My one piece of advice to you: don't invest all that time and money in seminary if you're not sure about it.'  I told him that I was at the very beginning of a process that I hoped would help me to learn much and discern more fully what God would have me do.  I said that I intended to be honest throughout the process.  Honest about what I believe and what I am seeking, what I envision for my future, as well as my concerns about TEC.
'Yeah, definitely be honest.  Because that's what I didn't do early enough.  I mean, I was raised in a great church.  Wonderful people, solid doctrine, man -- John Wesley would've been proud.  And I thought that was the church.'  He said he hoped the best for me, but he didn't envy me.  I thanked him for his concern and honest advice.  I know it was sincere, and I know he's really struggled.  I think C's situation is not unlike my own.  And in my more fearful moments, I can see my own path mirroring his, one of painful disillusionment.

So, why am I continuing to pursue holy orders in TEC?  It's a question worth pondering, and I do confess C's advice/warning has been occupying my thoughts lately.  To answer simply: I feel called to the priesthood, and the Episcopal Church is my church.  It is where I feel at home, despite my concerns about the future, and my grief over the schisms of the recent past.
I've only very briefly flirted with the idea of swimming the Tiber or the Bosphorus.  It's true that my knowledge of both Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy is not extensive, by any means.  God knows what the future holds; perhaps if I did know more, I would feel differently, but I rather doubt it.  I'm aware even now of certain doctrines and practices in both churches with which I don't entirely agree.  There is no perfect church.  I'm sure faithful Roman Catholics and Eastern Orthodox would themselves acknowledge this.  But they would also maintain that, despite its faults, their church is the one true Church, and therefore everyone else is on the outside, heretics in varying degrees.  I don't believe that.  It's simply one reason why I feel so strongly that I am indeed home as an Anglican Christian.
Of course, I'm also something of a loyalist by nature.  And really, I don't know many people who relish change and the severing of longstanding ties.  So, I'm aware that this could be just so much noble-sounding rationalizing on my part.  But I do feel that if I were once to make that break, and to set out on my quest for 'the true Church', I would never truly find myself at home, never feel entirely at peace.  Along with the question of being in communion with Canterbury, this is a primary reason why I don't see myself joining one of the 'continuing Anglican' churches.  How many are there?  It seems like a new one springs up every year or so.  Once schism for the sake of purity is embraced, it seems to have no end.  Would not the pasture always look greener on the other side, until I got there and realized upon closer inspection that it was more or less just as prickly and weevil-invested as the one I just abandoned?  And I don't think I'm simply making excuses when I say that where I am is where I believe God has placed me.  I intend to do what good I can in this place where He has seen fit to establish and raise me. I want to serve God as a priest in His Church, and I do believe this is a desire that He has placed in my heart.

Responding to the Call, and Believing What We Pray in the Magnificat

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
my spirit rejoices in God my Savior;
     for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will called me blessed:
     the Almighty has done great things for me,
     and holy is his name.
He has mercy on those who fear him 
     in every generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm, 
     he has scattered the proud in their conceit.
He has cast down the mighty from their thrones,
     and has lifted up the lowly.
He has filled the hungry with good things,
     and the rich he has sent away empty.
He has come to the help of his servant Israel,
     for he has remembered his promise of mercy,
The promise he made to our fathers,
     to Abraham and his children for ever.

I am currently reading On Being a Priest Today, by Rosalind Brown and Christopher Cocksworth.  In Chapter 3, "On Being for God", the authors begin by referencing the call of Moses, "the father of ministry by grace through faith."  When confronted with the call of God in the Burning Bush,

Moses' response was archetypal, echoed throughout the generations of calls to ministry: 'Who am I that I should go?' (Exodus 3:12).  God's reply to Moses is equally foundational and remains the word to all who have been called: 'I will be with you; and this shall be a sign for you that is I who sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall worship God on this mountain' (Exodus 3:12).  Moses' response is a statement of his own weakness.  God's response is a promise of his presence -- a promise that will be known to be true only in its believing, only in obeying the call, only in the doing of ministry.

The authors point out that it is Moses' very recognition of his own unworthiness that validates the call of God on his life.  It is true that Moses, in himself, is not fit to fulfill such a high and holy calling; no one is.  It is when an individual realizes this, however, that he or she is fit to be used as an instrument of God, through which He will accomplish great and wondrous things.  If Moses is the father of ministry by grace through faith, the Church may justly look to Mary as the Mother of all who say 'yes' to God.  Brown and Cocksworth continue:

Moses' song exalts the Lord as the true God who is able to accomplish the unexpected.  It is the same key in which Hannah, Mary, and other biblical characters sang.  'There is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you,' sings Hannah, no one 'raises up the poor from the dust' and makes the 'barren bear seven children' (I Samuel 2:2).  Mary's soul, too, 'proclaims the greatness of the Lord' who has 'looked with favor on his lowly servant' (Luke 1:46-48).  The Daily Office invites us to sing these familiar words of the Magnificat each evening as we gather the day before God in prayer.  The day may have felt very unproductive.  The powerful forces of the world may have seemed secure on their thrones and we, feeble against them.  But the theological truth in the strange kenotic workings of God is that even on this day, when our ministry has seemed at its most barren, God has done great things for us and through us, simply because, with Mary, our faith has said 'Here am I, the servant of the Lord' (Luke 1:38).  

Be encouraged, for my Father and your Father is working until now, and Jesus has overcome the world!
Peace.

     

An Anecdote

Not too long ago, my parish was in the process of searching for a rector.  One of the individuals who we invited to come for an interview and introduction to the church and community was a middle aged, single man.  To be honest, he struck me as kind of weird.  He was socially awkward, not in a shy way, but in a forthright, not especially tactful sort of way.  His mannerisms were unusual, and he seemed to have some slight "ticks" (for lack of a better word).  He also held, in my opinion, some rather unconventional views about religion and society generally.  I'm sure all that sounds horribly judgmental, and I think probably most people who live lives of great devotion to God don't come across as "normal"; nevertheless, such was my perception of him.  A number of parishioners had gathered at the church for dinner and introductions, with a formal interview to follow the meal.  During the course of the evening, he related to us a period in which he had experienced something of a crisis of faith.  He had felt unsure of his vocation as a priest, and so he went and spoke with his bishop.  He told his bishop that he felt he was "part Christian, part Buddhist, and part agnostic" or something like that.  His bishop's response was, "Well, that sounds Episcopalian to me."

The next morning, I was one of several parishioners who met with our guest at a local diner for breakfast.  I happened to sit next to him, and he inquired about my background.  I told him that I grew up in the Episcopal Church, in a generally conservative atmosphere.  My parents, as well as many members of the parish in which I was raised, are fairly evangelical.  His quick response was, "Wow.  That's really unusual" or words to that effect.  Needless to say, I was a little piqued, but I didn't say anything.  Inwardly, I was defensively thinking, "Well, you obviously don't know what you're talking about.  The Episcopal Church is a very diverse body.  You've just spent too much time on the West Coast (a native Californian).  You need to get out more."  That was my thought at the time.  Now, over a year later, well ... I don't know.  I feel I've learned quite a bit since then (as I've been actively seeking to learn) about TEC, and it's self-proclaimed diversity.  Certainly my reaction to his comment was presumptuous for a twenty-something whose firsthand experience of the Episcopal Church has been almost entirely confined to a single Midwestern diocese.  Maybe the circumstances in which I was raised were, in fact, unusual.  Maybe I'm the one who needs to get out more.
 
     

Unity, Grief, and Hope

Oh, how good and pleasant it is,
     when brethren live together in unity!
It is like fine oil upon the head
     that runs down upon the beard,
Upon the beard of Aaron,
     and runs down upon the collar of his robe.
It is like the dew of Hermon
     that falls upon the hills of Mount Zion.
For there the LORD has ordained the blessing:
     life for evermore.
~Psalm 133


I haven't really wanted to write about South Carolina.  I've been pretty downhearted every time I've thought about it.  It's kind of shaken my faith.  I haven't really wanted to write about anything for the last few days, but it's this that continues to occupy my thoughts, so I'm going to get them out here.  (Disclaimer: the disillusioned, long-winded rambling will now commence.)

I'm grieved.  I'm not really surprised, but that doesn't mean I'm not still confused.  I'm grieved that the church I love is continuing to tear itself apart.  It is a church that, I believe, has historically had a fairly unique calling to be a church of restoration and reunion, a church with a truly comprehensive vision, that embraces mystery and diversity in certain matters of faith because it believes that to do anything less would be dishonest and  would ultimately miss God, the incomprehensible mystery who yet lived with us as one of us, and lives also within us.  Clearly, we don't have God figured out, and we don't have all the answers (that should be obvious enough, despite the strident righteousness on display by both "sides").  As Archbishop Rowan Williams has said, "It takes the whole Church to know the whole truth."  I believe that strongly.  And so I'm grieved, because I'm watching that comprehensive vision fade farther into the background with each new schism.

I'm angry that this entire debacle has become one of opposing "sides".  I don't want to be a part of either side.  I don't want to be part of a church that is so confident in the rightness of its orthodoxy in the face of "heresy" that it feels justified in committing the sin of schism (surely one of the greatest heresies of all), and celebrates the fact that it will no longer have to be constantly battling to uphold the pure faith in the midst of all these liberal Christians, so-called, since most of them are apostate anyway and have chosen to lead TEC down a path that can only end in extinction.  "We're moving into a new and brighter future.  We don't need them."  I don't want to be part of a church that is so intent upon being a "prophetic witness" (and is so confident that it cannot but be so), that it is increasingly willing to set aside 2,000 years of Church tradition, and even the Holy Scriptures themselves, in order to "listen to what the Holy Spirit is telling us today" (or is that my own heart I hear?), a church that only tolerates a diversity of beliefs until one becomes too insistent on taking seriously that old idea of Scripture as truly foundational, even over and against the prevailing winds of the times in which we live, in which case we won't really be too sorry to see you leave, just so long as you don't try to steal our property as you go.  "We're moving into a new and brighter future.  We don't need them" (or much of the global Anglican Communion, it would seem).  But now there are many members, but one body.  And the eye cannot say to the hand, "I have no need of you"; or again the head to the feet, "I have no need of you."

I want to be part of a church that truly welcomes all types and conditions of people: Catholic, Evangelical, and Liberal; male and female; black and white; single and married; gay and straight; young and old; left, right, and every point in between.  I believe that Christ's one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church is indeed catholic: proclaiming God's whole truth, to all people, everywhere and at all times.  How can we fail to  recognize the breadth, height, and depth that Church must comprise?  Obviously, such a Church will have more than enough opportunities for disagreement on any number of issues.  But such a Church will consist of members who all find unity in Christ, who gather at the Eucharist to be nourished with spiritual food in the sacrament of Christ's body and blood, who, whatever differences they may have, still look at one another in love and recognize and affirm a brother or sister in the Lord.  My fear is that such a Church is ceasing to exist in North America today.  I still pray that it is not too late to preserve such a vision of the Church, but these last few days have not been encouraging.
   
The whole thing is a ghastly horrible witness.  As some have rightly pointed out, the church is reflecting the very worst of the partisanship of the current secular culture, when it should be witnessing to the bankruptcy of such power politics by showing a better way.  And sadly, I suppose we can expect the litigation battles over property to soon get underway.  I know what the canons say, and I don't care; it's uncharitable to the point of spite.  I say this to your shame.  Is it so, that there is not among you one wise man who will be able to decide before his brethren, but brother goes to law with brother, and that before unbelievers?  Actually, then it is already a defeat for you, that you have lawsuits with one another.  Why not rather be wronged?  Why not rather be defrauded?  And yet, I wonder: who cares?  I mean, how many people are even at all aware of what has recently transpired in South Carolina?  For all the church's seeming desire to be "relevant", on the cutting-edge of social justice, interfaith dialogue, biblical criticism, or whatever, we seem to be becoming more and more irrelevant.  Approach the man on the street and ask him what he thinks of the Episcopal Church, and it's a safe bet you'll get a blank stare (also likely he wouldn't even know how to pronounce the word "Episcopalian" if you showed it to him).  So, does all this even much matter?  I don't know; maybe it doesn't, at least as regards our witness, or lack thereof.  But it sure as hell grieves me.  And I'll be presumptuous and say that it grieves our Lord as well, and so, by extension, should grieve all His followers.  Would that some among our leaders would step down from the righteousness grandstand and issue a call for some intentional humility among all our people.  Blow a trumpet in Zion, consecrate a fast, proclaim a solemn assembly, gather the people, sanctify the congregation ... Let the priests, the LORD's ministers, weep between the porch and the altar, and let them say, "Spare Thy people, O LORD, and do not make Thine inheritance a reproach, a byword among the nations."    

It's times like these that almost make me wish I could relapse into the "personal relationship", individualist Christianity that has become so prevalent in the American church: just me and Jesus; what do I care about South Carolina and the nasty politico-theological battles of TEC?  But I can't do that.  I would be deceiving myself, and I know it.  Give me Jesus, yes, but I can't pretend that I can just leave this whole church thing alone, as if it were optional, there as a help for those who want it.  No, I was baptized into Christ, and made a member of the household of God.  For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free, and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.  Well, we're having some domestic turmoil, but I don't intend to leave the household, and I certainly won't close my eyes and imagine that the household itself doesn't exist.

I've read somewhere that the Church itself is a sacrament, even and especially in its brokenness.  In its brokenness, the Church points continually to the One who can make us whole.  Our institutions, both ecclesial and secular, will fail us; we ourselves, as individual humans, will fail.  All the more reason to lift our eyes to that One; in Jesus Christ alone is our hope.  I believe this.  And maybe it's foolish of me to choose to be still hopeful.  Maybe I need to take off the blinders and stop the wishful thinking.  I honestly don't know.  But I do choose to live in hope.  Not just the hope that all will ultimately be made well in God, regardless of whether or not the Episcopal Church continues as a faithful witness to the gospel, for I believe that is a point indisputable.  No, I choose also to hope and pray that this tradition in which I have been raised in Christ will indeed continue, and will yet experience healing and renewal.  If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.   May it be so.

Show us your mercy. O LORD,
     and grant us your salvation.
I will listen to what the LORD God is saying,
     for he is speaking peace to his faithful people
     and to those who turn their heart to him.
Truly, his salvation is very near to those who fear him,
     that his glory may dwell in our land.
Mercy and truth have met together,
     righteousness and peace have kissed each other.
Truth shall spring up from the earth,
     and righteousness shall look down from heaven.
The Lord will indeed grant prosperity,
     and our land will yield its increase.
Righteousness shall go before him,
     and peace shall be a pathway for his feet.
~Psalm 85

O God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, our only Savior, the Prince of Peace: Give us grace seriously to lay to heart the great dangers we are in by our unhappy divisions; take away all hatred and prejudice, and whatever else may hinder us from godly union and concord; that, as there is but one Body and one Spirit, one hope of our calling, one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of us all, so we may be all of one heart and of one soul, united in one holy bond of truth and peace, of faith and charity, and may with one mind and one mouth glorify you; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.
~ no. 14, a prayer For the Unity of the Church        

Yeah, I'd Like to Be a Priest

A few nights past I had a conversation with a friend who is an ordained Lutheran pastor.  I was sharing with him my experience of the last year and a half, as I've been "seeking to discern a call" to ordained ministry.  I've always felt awkward simply trying to articulate what it is I'm doing, this path of discernment, prayer, study, reflection.  "Seeking to discern a call" is how I usually phrase it; it sounds serious, but not too pretentious, or so I've supposed.  My friend asked what I could point to as an indicator that I should be an ordained minister.  There's no single thing upon which I can put my finger, just my abiding love of the church, and my interest in and affinity for all things ecclesial, my desire to serve Jesus faithfully, as well as a desire for work that is vocation, in which I can find fulfillment (something that seems increasingly absent in my current job), and in which I can help others in ways that are truly meaningful.

During the course of our conversation, he said something which I found very helpful.  He said that in his church tradition one would not really speak of being called to be a pastor until such time as a local congregation actually called upon the individual to come and serve them as pastor.  Not everyone who starts down the road to ordination actually becomes ordained, and there are those (teachers, chaplains, etc.) who are ordained but serve the church in ways other than as pastor of a local parish.  I could be ordained and discover that I am not, in fact, called to be a parish rector (I don't really see that being the case, but I am aware of that possibility).  This was not really news to me, but it was the language of "being called" in the context of our conversation that has been helping me think about things in a different light.  Maybe I should stop trying to be so pious about all this, like I know what I am talking about.  Maybe I should just be honest, naivete and all, and say simply, "I'm thinking about becoming a priest; I think I'd really like it."

Some time back, another friend of mine, an Episcopal priest, shared with me a story from when he was in the beginning stages of the ordination process.  He was at an interview with one of the professors of the seminary that he was seeking to be admitted to.  After being asked repeatedly why he was seeking ordination, my friend finally answered, somewhat in desperation, "I just know I want to be a priest."  I'm not sure that I've quite reached it yet, but I feel I'm pretty quickly moving to that place.  So, there it is: I think I'd like to be a priest.

Peace.

   

Ramsey: Be on the Godward side of every human situation

I'm currently reading Michael Ramsey's The Christian Priest Today.  The book is written for priests, and those considering the priestly vocation, but the following passage is a great admonition for any follower of Christ.  This is from chapter three, Man of Prayer.

Amidst our contemporary tensions between traditional modes of prayer and the newer forms of secular spirituality, it helps to recapture the simplest meaning of our Lord's high-priestly intercession: to be with God for the people.  Anywhere, everywhere, God is to be found.  In your daily encounters with people, God is there: you can recollect him, you can be with him, you can share your doings with him, you can shoot arrows of desire from your heart to his: and all this will be for the people's sake.  You can be on the Godward side of every human situation; for the Godward side is a part of every human situation.  But you are unlikely to have the power to be on the Godward side of human situations if you think that it can be done by a kind of shallow secularized activism.  This is the fallacy that does so much damage at the present time.  The truth is that you will have the awareness of God and the power to be on the Godward side of human situations only if you carry with you into the day's ups and downs an "interior castle" of recollection drawn from your times of quietness and eucharist and scripture.  There is no by-passing the Psalmist's wisdom, "Be still and know that I am God", and there is no by-passing the example of our Lord whom Simon Peter found praying alone in a desert place a great while before day.  You will not try to be wiser than the Psalmist, or wiser than our Lord.

Heavenly Father, in you we live and move and have our being: We humbly pray you so to guide and govern us by your Holy Spirit, that in all the cares and occupations of our life we may not forget you, but may remember that we are ever walking in your sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Reflections After a Retreat

A few weeks ago, my family and I had the privilege of traveling to the motherhouse of the the Rivendell Community for a weekend retreat.  Rivendell is a religious community within the Episcopal Church.  The following is from their website:

"Rivendell’s professed members (called “Companions”—those who break bread and share the journey together) include women and men, lay and ordained, married and single. Some live together in residential community, while the majority live in private homes, coming together for worship, prayer, conversation, study, and active ministry. All follow a common Rule, or pattern of life and prayer, which sustains and nourishes us to live active lives of service in our particular and diverse ministries.
The work of the Rivendell Community is focused on prayer and hospitality: the constant offering of prayer and worship on behalf of the Church and the world, and hospitality both physical and spiritual. Through its life and work, the Community seeks to foster the contemplative dimension of Christian faith—not as self-seeking spirituality but as self-giving availability to the transformative power of the Gospel, and loving obedience to the purposes of God."

I became aware of the existence of the community some time ago, but this was my first experience of it. I had been particularly eager for the experience, as the idea of living according to a vowed common rule of life has held a great attraction for me as of late. Those who live by such a rule must, I think, be well disposed to grow deeper into God by virtue of the nearly constant mindfulness of God that the rule necessitates. There is also an invitation to community offered by such religious orders, even among a group of people who are dispersed geographically. Meaningful Christian fellowship in community is, as I've noted before, something I greatly desire.

My excitement before the retreat was tempered, however, by realism. As my wife and I were bringing our entire brood along, we both went into the weekend without high hopes for being able to participate in the rhythm of reflective study and worship to the extent that we would have sans children. That certainly turned out to be the right attitude for avoiding frustration, as our kids brought their own rhythms with them. Consequently, our participation throughout the retreat was haphazard, as is the entirety of our existence at this point in life's journey. We were blessed, nonetheless.

Our rector (who is also a professed companion of Rivendell) had graciously invited us for the weekend. The retreat was focused on the writings of the early twentieth century English mystic, Evelyn Underhill. I knew of Underhill, but had not previously read any of her works. Over the last several weeks I have been delving into her writings. Wholly apart from the blessings of the retreat itself, introduction to Underhill has been blessing enough for me. A theme of her work (at least as I have encountered it so far) is the living of the interior life of the Spirit in the midst of the daily responsibilities of life. Again and again she stresses this, as a selection of excerpts below demonstrates. From The School of Charity:

"The creative action of the Spirit penetrates the whole of life, and is felt by us in all sorts of ways. If our idea of that creative action is so restricted that we fail to recognize it working within the homely necessities and opportunities of our visible life, we may well suspect the quality of those invisible experiences to which we like to give spiritual status. 'I found Him very easily among the pots and pans,' said St. Teresa. 'The duties of my position take precedence of everything else,' said Elizabeth Leseur; pinned down by those duties to a life which was a constant check on the devotional practices she loved. She recognized the totality of God's creative action, penetrating and controlling the whole web of life."

and again,

"We see the child in the carpenter's workshop.  He does not go outside the frame of the homely life in which He appeared.  It did quite well for Him, and will do quite well for us; there is no need for peculiar conditions in order to grow in the spiritual life, for the pressure of God's Spirit is present everywhere and at all times.  Our environment itself, our home and job, is the medium through which we experience His moulding action and His besetting love.  It is not Christian to try to get out of our frame, or separate our outward life from our life of prayer, since both are the creation of one Charity.  The third-rate little town in the hills, with its limited social contacts and monotonous manual work, reproves us when we begin to fuss about our opportunities and our scope."

Finally, from The Spiritual Life:

"Therefore our favourite distinction between the spiritual life and the practical life is false.  We cannot divide them.  One affects the other all the time: for we are creatures of sense and spirit, and must live an amphibious life.  Christ's whole ministry was an exhibition, first in one way and then in another, of this mysterious truth.  It is through all the circumstances of existence, inward and outward, not only those we like to label spiritual, that we are pressed to our right position and given our supernatural food.  For a spiritual life is simply a life in which all that we do comes from the centre, where we are anchored in God: a life soaked through and through by a sense of His reality and claim, and self-given to the great movement of His will."

These are words that speak to me where I am. This is my struggle, not to balance family responsibilities with my spiritual life, but to understand that my duty as a father is currently my primary opportunity for the living out of the life I profess to walk in Christ. It is no good to devote myself to praying the Daily Office, to serious study of the Scriptures, to the composing of posts for a blog (oh, the bitter irony), if I do so at the cost of neglecting my family, even for a moment. My wife and I were discussing this the other night. I confessed that I felt that if I am to be the loving, involved father that I feel I should be (and that I want to be), I must commit to nothing else. To attempt to do anything other than be a devoted father seems futile, a guaranteed recipe for frustration. And while I want to be that father, I also want (perhaps need) to have other outlets as well; to read, to write, to work, to have adult conversation. I think there is much that could be interestingly developed here on the topic of parenting in the modern era, and gender roles and expectations, but that conversation will have to wait for another day. I really do believe parenthood is one of the greatest responsibilities and privileges life offers. It is certainly the prevailing responsibility of my life at this point in time. But it is so hard. As my wife said, "Supposedly, other people are going through the same thing." I guess, but why does it seem so much crazier for us? To say our life right now is controlled chaos gives us a bit too much credit. So, yes, this is my struggle, and I need grace anew every day.

Not incidentally, this is also one of my recurring concerns/questions about ordained ministry. How does one manage to be both a husband/father and priest/pastor? I mean, it's one thing to leave the business office early so you can see your kid's ball game; priorities seem pretty clear to me there. But what if it's a choice between your kid's game and attending the bedside of a dying parishioner? That's quite a tougher call. And if I'm not mistaken, having to make that type of decision is not an uncommon occurrence for those who have answered the call to a vocation in ordained ministry. I can see how being a young priest with a family could have its benefits (and I'm also not a believer in putting life on hold until the kids are all grown up), but I can also see how it would make sense to wait until life has slowed down a bit and one has had a chance to accumulate additional "life experience", and the wisdom that comes with the years. But then again, maybe life never does slow down.

Peace.

An Introduction and Invitation

Happy are the people whose strength is in you!
whose hearts are set on the pilgrims' way.
Psalm 84:4

In the name of Christ, welcome, and peace. This blog is intended to be an experiment in spiritual discernment. I don't believe the world needs or wants another blog about "adventures in Anglicanism"; there are plenty of those already, and many of them do a much better job of reflecting over Anglican life and spirituality than I could hope to offer. I've no doubt I will do a fair bit of ruminating here and maybe even some pretentious preaching on occasion, but such is not my primary object. I intend to be inquiring at least as much as I am affirming, and in this spirit I hope that I may find some direction and light from fellow pilgrims (the older and wiser the better, I should think).

First, some information about myself. I was baptized and raised in the Episcopal Church. My family's faith has never been a 'Sundays only' affair. I was blessed to grow up in a loving and devoted Christian home. Though I have always been an Episcopalian, I have experienced a fairly broad spectrum of Christian tradition. My parents are primarily evangelical in their faith, and most of my friends and extended family attend other churches. My beautiful wife and I were married in the church of my boyhood. Though prior to our relationship she had almost no experience of liturgical traditions, she has since come to find herself happily at home in the Episcopal Church. Currently, I am a high school teacher in a moderately small town in Kansas. My wife and I are fairly busy these days as we raise three small children. I thank God that I may count myself so very blessed. Life is good. However, over the period of about the last year and a half, I have felt myself called to serious contemplation of how God would have me live in service to Him. I really do not see myself teaching high school kids for forty years. When I consider what it is that I can see myself doing, I often find myself in the service of the church. What this would look like I don't yet know, though I find it most natural to envision myself as called to the vocation of a parish priest; that is, after all, the context in which I have most frequently and meaningfully witnessed ordained ministry. And there is much in that vocation, on the surface, that appeals to me (I think I'm starting to gain a greater appreciation for the incredible responsibilities that lie under the surface, as well). In any event, this is clearly only the start of a journey, and I know I have much to learn, regardless of where God leads me.

This journey has led me already into considerable reflection and study. Much has been of a personal nature: What do I want to do with my life? Do I really want to become a priest? Am I fit for such a high calling? What would such a vocation entail for my family and our future? What, in fact, do I believe? Such a question as that last one has been, thus far, one of primary focus for me. And it has led me into many more questions, ultimately not personal, but universal, both general and specific. Who is God? What is the church? What of the church's claims about God and human existence? What does it mean to live a life of faithfulness to God? And on and on. 

All of which brings me here. I feel, at this point in time, that what I very much need is some guidance. I hope to find some light as I muse over these and other questions in subsequent posts, and I sincerely hope that some fellow pilgrims may feel called to occasionally help me along the way. In addition, I crave (and yes, need) Christian community, community that strengthens my soul and sharpens my intellect, community that calls me ever onward in my pilgrimage to realize the coming of God's Kingdom, community that calls me ever back to the foundation laid by apostles on the cornerstone of Jesus Christ, community that cares deeply about things that matter in the midst of a society entertaining and distracting itself to death. Frankly, I think an electronic medium such as this is a poor substitute for true living in community. Nevertheless, I pray that God will use this blog to provide guidance for a pilgrim, and maybe even some worthwhile sustenance for others in fellowship along the way. All to His glory. 

Whatever may lie ahead, and whatever doubts I may harbor, I find great comfort in my firm conviction that God, in His perfection, will at last set all things right. In such knowledge, what cause have I to ever be without hope? I close now (after much too lengthy a post; I hope this is not setting a precedent), with one of my favorite lines from Dante:
"O Sun, that healest all distempered vision,
Thou dost content me so, when thou resolvest,
That doubting pleases me no less than knowing!"
                               The Divine Comedy, Canto XI of Inferno