Legislative Discipline

(This is NOT the fourth in the promised series of four posts on major General Convention issues, but just some thoughts that came to me while driving through Illinois cornfields.)

This will be my fourth General Convention. If memory services, each has been slightly shorter than its predecessor. With travel days, the 2003 convention consumed two weeks on my calendar. This one has me in its grip for only ten days.

At one level, shorter is better. It's certainly less expensive, which is the force driving the change. But the problem is, nothing seems to have been done to trim the agenda, which means that there will be an even bigger rush of business than usual in the last two days, bishops and deputies will be frazzled, tempers will be short, and the quality of decision making will tank.

This got me thinking. Thinking about the Blue Book (which is actually pink this year) in particular. The Blue Book, which is about three inches thick, with letter-size pages, contains only the 'A' resolutions, i.e. those submitted by various interim bodies--Committees, Commissions, Agencies, and Boards (known in geek parlance as CCABs). So it does not include 'B' resolutions (submitted by bishops), 'C' resolutions (submitted by diocesan conventions), and 'D' resolutions (submitted by deputies). These are now piling up in the General Convention office, and a number of trees will give their lives so we can all have a look at them when we arrive in Indianapolis a week from tomorrow.

Many times we have heard a member of one of the CCABs (I think particularly of the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music, but it happens with others as well), when questioned about that body's work, say something like, "We're just doing what General Convention asked us to do," and then cite the resolution that, sure enough, asks them to do what they're doing.

But if we drill down another level, and ask "Who asked General Convention to ask them to do what they're doing", we begin to get a little dizzy from walking in circles. In the great majority of cases, it was an 'A resolution that got the ball rolling, which means that it was probably the same CCAB that ended up being charged with the responsibility of doing something. So it's usually not some grassroots groundswell on an issue that puts it in front of convention, which then assigns it to a CCAB to work on, but, rather, a small group of laity, clergy, and bishops who not only have a presumptive interest in, if not a passion for, the subject matter at hand, but probably also a subconscious instinct to participate in group self-preservation. What if a CCAB exhausts its mandate, runs out of stuff to do? Will it just go quietly into that good night? Not likely. It will attempt to ensure its continued existence by proposing 'A' resolutions that have a privileged status by appearing in hard copy in front of all bishops and deputies weeks before the convention, and which will then create work for them by which to justify their continued life.

So ... what if we do this?: Restrict CCABs to proposing resolutions that are "action items," not requests to study this or develop that. If General Convention wants to give them that sort of work, let the impetus come from somewhere other than the interim body that will likely be assigned the task. This would make it more difficult for a small coterie with vested interests to place items on the General Convention agenda. Then we might be able to keep shortening General Convention, and still have the energy to devote attention to matters that arise organically from the life of the church, not in the legislative hothouse of a CCAB.

Toward General Convention III: Celebrating the Saints

Resurrection is the fundamental datum of the Christian faith. The astonishing claim of the earliest Christian communities was that, because Jesus was raised from the dead, death no longer has the last word for those who follow him in faith. That from which all fear springs and that toward which all fear leans has been robbed of its power. This is, of course, an eschatological hope, and it is precisely and only through death that we know death to be conquered. But because of our resurrection hope, Christians have generally supposed (the exception being the excesses of Protestantism) that the veil separating those disciples of Jesus who continue to labor in this world from those who have "gone on before" into the nearer presence of God to be exquisitely thin. We are knit together in "one communion and fellowship" encompassing both the living and the dead.

As a consequence, Christian worship has always included (again, save for the excesses of Protestantism) prayers specifically on behalf of the faithful departed, that they will continue to grow in the knowledge and love of God, that they will continue to yield themselves to the loving ministrations of the Divine Physician of their souls, to the end that the image of God with which they were conceived, but which has been distorted by the power of Sin, be perfectly restored, such that they can look God in the eye and not die.

Among the faithful departed, there have been some in whom the Christian community has perceived and discerned that this process of sanctification--being made holy--is substantially complete. Different sections of the Church have had varying procedures for identifying these individuals. Some are exceedingly formal, and others quite informal, intuitive, consensual. Invariably, of course, there are indications during the person's lifetime that he or she is extraordinary, giving evidence of uncommon virtue or heroic witness for the gospel, perhaps to the point of shedding blood. But, whatever process is used, it has been the custom to honor these "Saints" (holy ones) on the liturgical calendar, usually on the date of their death. In celebrating these heroes liturgically, it has been a ubiquitous part of Christian piety (again--dare I pick on them again?--save for the excesses of Protestantism) to invoke their prayers on our behalf.

The liturgical calendar, like an old cemetery, eventually filled up. Every saint could not be commemorated universally; there had to be room for local and regional variation. But it seemed to make sense to set aside one day on which "all saints" could be honored. In the west, this ended up being November 1, and in the Episcopal Church, All Saints' Day is numbered among the top tier of annual celebrations, styled a "principal feast" (one of only seven). As a sort of echo of the feast of All Saints, the following day, November 2, evolved as a more somber commemoration of "All Souls" (in Episcopalian parlance, "All Faithful Departed"). This is a day when we can remember before God--hopefully in the Eucharist--Grandmother Jones and Uncle Harry and that ninth grade English teacher who was so kind and helpful.

There is, of course, some overlap between the two categories, and it would be a mistake to put too fine a point on this, but, in general, those honored on All Saints' Day (and on their respective days in the calendar) are Christian exemplars of whom we might intuitively be inclined to ask their prayers for us. Those whom we commemorate on All Souls' Day are really "all sorts and conditions" of Christian people. While some may  have been quite virtuous during their journey through this world, they were not distinctively and memorably heroic in their witness. They are more or less like the rest of us. They are people whom we might be intuitively be more inclined to offer our prayers for them, rather than ask theirs for us, though we might, of course, do both with those in either category.

At the time of the English reformation in the 1500s, the liturgical calendar, as part of the reactivity of the times, was pared way, way back. It wasn't until the middle of the last century when Anglicans allowed the pendulum to swing in the other direction, adding the names of selected non-biblical saints to the calendar. The volume Lesser Feasts and Fasts was commissioned by General Convention, and when the most recent Prayer Book appeared in 1976, its calendar included scores of new commemorations. At each General Convention since then, this calendar has been expanded, but with only a handful of additional commemorations in any given triennium.

In the 1990s, the liturgical calendar began to become a political football. It was noticed that those commemorated were disproportionately clerical and disproportionately male and disproportionately Anglican (imagine that, in an Anglican calendar). In an effort to redress these perceived imbalances (indeed, some would argue, injustices) the pace of new proposals for inclusion began to pick up markedly. Then, in 2006, the convention passed a resolution that directed the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music to begin work on a thorough revision of Lesser Feasts and Fasts. The ensuing fruit of the SCLM's labor was presented in 2009, renamed Holy Women, Holy Men: Celebrating the Saints, and authorized for trial use. At the upcoming 77th General Convention, the SCLM has offered a slight revision of the proposed revision (mostly as concerns the collects), asked that HWHM be continued for trial use, and also asked that convention direct it to produced a finished product for consideration by the 78th General Convention, which will meet in Salt Lake City in 2015.

Holy Women, Holy Men is, unfortunately, a train wreck.

In 2006, the SCLM set forth some criteria for inclusion in the sanctoral calendar:

1. Historicity. There should be some evidence that the person commemorated actually existed.
2. Christian Discipleship. This would imply, at the very least, baptism, and probably also a life that is overtly and intentionally Christian.
3. Significance. "Those commemorated should have been in their lifetime extraordinary, even heroic servants of God..." They should be inspiring in their example.
4. Memorability. Not necessarily universally remembered--some worthies have fallen through the cracks--but deserving of being remembered.
5. Range of Inclusion. Try to have more who were not male, not white, not ordained, and not Anglican.
6. Local Observance. "It should normatively be the case that significant commemoration of a person already exists and ... local and regional levels..." 
7. Perspective. Those commemorated should be of the category of history, not journalism. In other words, they should be dead for at least a couple of generations, or fifty years.
8. Levels of Commemoration. After Principal Feasts, Feasts of Our Lord, Sundays, and Holy Days, "each commemoration should be given equal weight."
9. Combined Commemorations. "Where there are close and natural links between persons to be commemorated, a joint commemoration would make excellent sense."

For the most part, these are excellent criteria. Number nine strays from tradition a bit, since saints are usually commemorated on the anniversary of their death, but this is not egregiously offensive. Number eight is neither here nor there, in my opinion. But numbers one, two, three, four, six, and seven are rock solid, squarely within the tradition. I can even get behind number five, to a point--that point being that it's not taken to an extreme and allowed to trump all the others. Sadly--and inexplicably, given these criteria--that's exactly what HWHM does. 

In the calendar of Lesser Feasts and Fasts (still, I should add, the official calendar of the Episcopal Church), I count 143 "days of optional observance" (the Prayer Book term for what we're talking about here). HWHM (as offered in 2006) proposes (again, by my fallible count) 118 more, an increase, at one time, of 82%. And there are several other proposals for even more additions, coming from both the SCLM and dioceses, slated for consideration in Indianapolis. Some of them are no doubt worthy; others, not so much. But, either way, it's just too many for us to get to know and decide whether to adopt all at the same time, even with three years to visit with them when their names pop up. It's like liturgical speed dating, and there's no compelling reason why we should be forced into it.

Clearly, though, many of the proposed commemorations are just not appropriate for the calendar of the Episcopal Church in 2012. 

Some come from streams of Christianity that--both in their time and ours--find the whole notion of a "calendar of saints" ludicrous at best, if not repugnant. If we really did believe in a living and active communion of saints, then we might rightly fear the indignation of the likes of Fanny Crosby, Lottie Moon, Adoniram Judson, William Carey, and many others. We actually dishonor them by our own insensitivity to their theological convictions.

Some expressly left Anglicanism to embrace the Roman Church, and/or were lifelong Roman Catholics who have not yet been canonized by their own church. One thinks here of Elizabeth Seton, John Henry Newman, G.K. Chesterton, and Pope John XXIII. Again, they would have been horrified at the prospect of what we're doing. Could we possibly be more filled with hubris?

Some have not been gone long enough to meet the criterion of "perspective" (Frances Perkins, Thurgood Marshall, Albert Luthuli). Why do we have to add them right now? Let's see what their shelf life is.

Some had only a tenuous connection with Christianity (John Muir, for example) and one was simply not a Christian at all, but a Jewish military chaplain (one of the group known as the Dorchester Chaplains).

Many were undeniably accomplished, and they have blessed both the church and world, but they are not remembered for piety or saintly character, only for their accomplishments. This is by far the longest list, and it includes the likes of the architects Cram and Upjohn, clinicians William Mayo and Charles Meninger, composers Bach, Handel, Purcell, Byrd, Merbecke, and Tallis (one could possibly make a case for Bach, but probably not the others; and as long as we're not concerned about piety, why not Vaughan Williams, Britten, or Howells?); painters Gruenwald, Cranach, and Durer; astronomers Copernicus and Kepler; and author Harriet Beecher Stowe. And this is barely scratching the surface. 

What we have here is category creep. These are all people worthy of being remembered; indeed, worthy of being remembered by the Christian community. We should find a way to help make that happen. We should know about them. I've enjoyed learning about the ones I've had to look up. But, with some exceptions, they are wildly out of place in a sanctoral calendar. They are "November 2" kind of people, not in the "November 1" class. I'll be glad to pray for John Calvin's continued growth in holiness (presuming he is indeed among the elect!). But I'm a long way from invoking his prayers for me. To put Roger Williams and Anne Hutchinson in the same category as Perpetua and Felicity does a disservice to all of them.

I'm not in principal opposed to expanding the community of those whom Episcopalians intentionally know themselves to be knit together with. But not 120 all at once. Let's reaffirm the original criteria for inclusion from 2009, and then restrict ourselves to no more than ten new trial use additions in any given triennium. Eternity is long enough to wait for us. 

On Confirmation

(Note: This is NOT part of my promised four-part series on General Convention issues. It's just lagniappe, as they say in Louisiana.)

There are resolutions coming before General Convention that will remove Confirmation as a condition for eligibility for any status or ministry or leadership position in the Episcopal Church. Indeed, Confirmation has a tortured history, in both ancient and modern times ... and medieval times as well, for that matter. 

Baptism in the pre-Constantinian church was, speaking generally and in broad strokes, a unified but segmented rite. The bishop was the normative presider at every point. It included water, chrismation with hand-laying, and prayer for the gift of the Holy Spirit.

In time, for obvious practical and pastoral reasons, presbyters were deputized to preside on the bishop's behalf. In some cases (mostly in the east) this meant the entire process. In others (mostly in the west), it meant only the water portion, with the oil/hands/Holy Spirit part reserved for the bishop at some near-future occasion. Eventually, "near future" morphed into "whenever," and the event took on an identity of its own, apart from baptism. It became known as Confirmation.

In the late Middle Ages and through the Reformation era, some extra cultural baggage got laid on confirmation: a coming-of-age celebration, a sort of Christian bar mitzvah, along with the attendant expectation of instruction and absorption of what is taught. 

More recently, in a religiously fluid society, Confirmation was laden still further, as the way an "episcopal" (small-e intended) church regularizes the status of those who "join" (we have adopted the peculiarly American categories of voluntarism) but who have never come under the hands of a bishop (which our corporate memory tells us is a critical part of the initiatory process).

Attention to the politics of TEC in the 60s and 70s will reveal that those in the forefront of liturgical reform wanted to scrap Confirmation altogether, and reunify the initiation rite under the title Holy Baptism, and allow presbyters to preside over the entire process. They got blowback from the bishops, who felt like this would deprive them of their principal pastoral contact with lay people. So the 1979 BCP represents a compromise. What we might call the "original sacramental guts" of Confirmation were indeed restored to Holy Baptism, with priests permitted to preside. This was done somewhat on the sly, but look at the liturgy: there is chrismation, hand-laying, and multiple prayers calling down the Holy Spirit. Then the other baggage that had accumulated over the centuries was bundled together and given existence as a separate rite with the name "Confirmation," together with the nebulous language of "expectation" that everyone will in one way or another acquire that status of "confirmed communicant."

I would venture to say that most Episcopalians, lay or ordained, do not "get" the dynamics of this relatively recent history. Even if one is fully aware of all this, the matter is still confusing; much more so if one is not. I certainly count myself among the confused. I have been long of the mind that we should "receive" from Rome and Orthodoxy, and "confirm" everybody else who comes from another Christian communion. But I realize that such a position is predicated on the assumption that those from Rome and Orthodoxy have had tactile sacramental contact with a bishop, and this is manifestly not necessarily the case with either. 

I would suggest that the important norm is testimony to one's faith in the presence of a bishop, who is by nature an icon of the universality of the church across both time and space. 

In my limited experience (15 months) in episcopal ministry, I find that the formula for Reception is quite weak and unsatisfying. In fact, the whole concept is weak and unsatisfying. Does it really make a person any more an Episcopalian than they already were? When I was in parish ministry, if someone began attending and communicating regularly, I would ask for the basic information regarding the date and place of their baptism, and I would record that information in the Parish Register. As I read the canons, that makes them fully members of "this church." I would still then hold out the expectation of coming under the hands of the bishop at an opportune time. I really do wish we could get away from thinking of Confirmation as "the sacrament of becoming an Episcopalian," because it's not that at all. Perhaps I will more toward using the Reaffirmation formula as a way of welcoming anyone who has already made an adult profession of faith, in whatever tradition. Perhaps.

Toward General Convention II: Marriage

(This is the second in a series of four posts on major issues facing the 77th General Convention of the Episcopal Church.)


In 2009, the 76th General Convention passed Resolution C056, which, among other things, directed the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music to provide "liturgical resources" for the blessing of unions between persons of the same sex. The fruit of that work, a rite entitled "I Will Bless You and You Will Be a Blessing" is proposed for trial use during the next triennium via Resolution A049.


It will come as no shock to anyone who knows me that I will vote No on this resolution., and in the likely event that some version of it indeed does pass, its use will nonetheless be forbidden in the Diocese of Springfield during my episcopate. Here is what I wrote on the subject on this very blog back on March 25, 2007 (speaking collectively for those who share my position and about/to GLBT Christians):

While we cannot condone the blessing of committed relationships other than heterosexual marriage, because anything else falls short of God’s design, neither will we harass, condemn, or judge them. We will let you live in peace, and be available to you with informal pastoral support. And we will remain in an Episcopal Church in which many (most?) believe that God is calling us to something more overt, as a faithful minority, even as we disagree about God’s call.

So I am opposed to the whole project on principle, regardless of the shape or words of the proposed rite. As a consequence, my more more conservative confreres and I have the luxury of watching events play out with some degree of resigned dispassion. If the discussion is about whether this rite or some other rite is the best way forward toward "full inclusion," then we don't have a dog in this hunt. And from our position on the sidelines, we are watching a bit of a battle shape up between those who are in principle to some degree agreeable to the church providing ritual pastoral care to same-sex couples. There is indeed a hunt, and there are lots of dogs in it.


In one corner are those who advocate for what is known (by those who advocate for it) in both church and secular circles as "marriage equality." In their view, there should not be "gay marriage," but just marriage, fully open in every way to both opposite-sex and same-sex couples, without discrimination. The issue is, for its partisans, one of gospel justice. To back off from the imperative in any way is to desert the moral demands of a just God. Anything less than "marriage equality" is ultimately a sellout, once again relegating our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters to the back of the bus. Those in this camp will not rest until the Prayer Book marriage rite, and church canons, are changed so as to be completely gender-neutral. By its very status as a separate rite, the liturgy proposed in A049 does not do this. Still, they will, I think vote for it, seeing its passage as a strategic interim victory en route to the full prize.


In the other corner are those who favor a "generous pastoral provision" (the language of C056) for lesbian and gay couples, but who don't want such provision to look at all like marriage. For some, this is because they are genuinely invested in preserving the status of marriage as an institution defined as a lifelong public commitment between a man and a woman, even while making compassionate provision--on the side, as it were--for those who are not wired in such a way as to be successfully married to a person of the opposite sex. Others, particularly among some of my colleagues in the House of Bishops, are uncomfortably aware of their own political vulnerability among stakeholders who hold much more conservative views on the subject. In either case, however, the problem with "I Will Bless You..." for this group is that, in shape and in language, it looks for all the world like a marriage service. Some of these will swallow hard and vote Yes anyway. Others, I know, will not. How those percentages will eventually break out I can't say at the moment. There's too much that can yet happen.


In any case, here's what I would invite my friends in both corners to consider: When some form of a liturgy for the blessing of same-sex unions is passed--and let's assume that it will be substantially the same as what the SCLM has proposed--what will be the "crawler" headline at the bottom of the screen on CNN and MSNBC and Fox News within minutes? It will be something like "Episcopal Church endorses gay marriage." Now, I am among the last who would suggest we take our cue from the secular media, because they're only interested in sensationalism and they invariably get it wrong. Nonetheless, this is indicative of how it will be perceived among the dwindling company of Episcopalians across our nine provinces. Whatever pains we might take in "perfecting" this legislation in committee (which, for my sins, I am a member of) and floor debate, whatever sort of moat we dig or fence we erect around "marriage" to distinguish it from A049, that barrier will be invisible. It will be effectively meaningless. The advocates of "marriage equality" can take heart from this reality. Those in the other corner should be appropriately sobered by it. And those of us on the sidelines can continue to watch with interested disinterest.


A final observation: The next resolution in the sequence from the SCLM, A050, proposes the creation of a group tasked with undertaking a thorough study of the Church's theology of marriage. Two questions emerge from this. First, is it not rather absurd to be doing this after we approve a liturgy that preempts the discussion by charging right ahead into same-sex marriage? What's the point of studying the subject while we're in the middle of making major changes in the institution/sacrament that we're studying? It seems a little disingenuous. Which leads to the second question: Is not A050 a strategic ploy on the part of "marriage equality" advocates to initiate a process that will eventually result in Prayer Book revision and the neutering of the marriage rite? In the abstract, I would be supportive of a resolution that we study the theology of marriage. But this one smells fishy.

Resolution B009

Here's one of my contributions to the General Convention workload.


B009   Authorize Use of 1979 Lectionary 

PROPOSER
Martins, The Rt. Rev. Daniel

ENDORSED BY
Little, The Rt. Rev. Edward; Sisk, The Rt. Rev. Mark

RESOLUTION TEXT
Resolved, the House of _______ concurring, That worshiping communities wishing to use the lectionary for Sundays and Holy Days as originally printed in the Book of Common Prayer (1979) may do so, with the permission of the Ecclesiastical Authority.

EXPLANATION 
Despite the fact that all due process was observed leading up to the adoption of the Revised Common Lectionary by the 75th General Convention, there is considerable anecdotal evidence that many worshiping communities did not begin considering it until its use became mandatory on Advent Sunday 2010. Even though the RCL is now the official lectionary of this Church, it is only now effectively undergoing a period of widespread trial use. Widespread use has revealed a number of concerns. These include the way the length of some readings are edited, the general length of the appointed Psalms, a marked change in theological emphasis in the observance of All Saints' Day, among others. It seems inevitable that the RCL will be altered once again, sooner than later. In the meantime, many communities have grown attached to portions of the 1979 lectionary that have been changed or eliminated by the RCL, portions that have been significantly formative of the spiritual lives of their members. It seems just and considerate to let them, under the guidance of the Bishop, continue to use the lectionary to which they have become accustomed. 

Toward General Convention: Polity

I guess it's about time to start "thinking out loud" about next month's triennial General Convention of the Episcopal Church. This will be my fourth, but my first as a bishop; so it will be the same, but different.

(SIDEBAR: To my friends who are "formerly Episcopalian," remember that gloating is probably a sin. You are missed.)

I will make no attempt to cover the depressing array of resolutions that we will be confronted with. Each recent General Convention has been shorter than its predecessor, but with no curbs placed on the type or number of resolutions that may be submitted. So it's pedal-to-the-metal that whole time we're there. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I need a vacation. Full disclosure: Two of the resolutions have my name on them. And there may be more. So, if I'm pointing fingers, I'm pointing at myself.

I want to hit four broad areas, in four successive posts: Polity, Same-Sex Blessings, the Liturgical Calendar, and the Anglican Covenant.

Polity (or Structure, depending on one's angle of approach, though the two cannot really be separated) is arguably the elephant in the room at this convention. It has quickly become a very hot topic because straitened finances at a national level are forcing us to make it one. Indeed, the last time I woke this blog up from dormancy, it was to propose, in the wake of the Presiding Bishop's remarks to the Province V Synod, that General Convention lay aside all other business, save for a bare-bones budget just to keep the lights turned on, and focus entirely on structural reform. I would certainly be willing to put into abeyance the two resolutions that I am sponsoring (one on the Anglican Covenant, and one that would authorize use the 1979 lectionary) in order to help make this happen. But I don't expect the idea to gain very much traction. Our level of collective pain is not yet high enough.

I don't have a comprehensive and well-thought through proposal for restructuring the church at a national level, nor do I have a favorite among those that are out there. But I do have a strong suspicion that, if we manage to stumble across an effective solution for preventing institutional meltdown (and I'm not at all sanguine that we will do so), it will be a "back to the future" enterprise. The familiar Church Center apparatus emanating from 815 Second Avenue in New York did not exist in any form prior to 1919, and did not exist in its current form until after World War II. In many ways, the evolution of this institutional presence evolved right alongside corporate America, and it seemed to our forebears a very expedient development. It has been only since 1946 that we have had a Presiding Bishop who is not also the bishop of a diocese.

That was then, this is now. To borrow from Walter Russell Bowie, "new occasions teach new duties," and "time makes ancient good uncouth." In the internet age, amid the shadows of postmodern values, the kind of top-down hierarchical structure that seemed like such a no-brainer in the'50s and '60s is yesterday's news. Now it's all about subsidiarity. And networking. I'm not saying that adopting those two virtues du jour will get us where we need to be, but I am saying that not adopting them will prevent us from getting there.

So, in my occasionally-but-not-always-humble opinion, here's what needs to happen:

• We need to get out of New York. Sell the property in an expeditious manner and get out. This is certainly important for financial reasons, but it is even more important for symbolic and practical reasons. '815' is a symbol of aloof elitism to too many Episcopalians (and, sadly, a large number who are now former Episcopalians). We need to bury the bogeyman of "the national church." (Yes, I do know that expression is not au courant, but, I think for silly reasons; so I continue to use it.) Most of what's done there either doesn't actually need to be done (i.e. it conflicts with the principle of subsidiarity) or can be done by telecommuting. I realize that closing the Church Center will adversely affect some people, and we should do what we can to ease their transition. But the plug needs to be pulled. Now.
• The next Presiding Bishop needs to be a part-timer. Yes, I mean the one we elect in 2015. The PB needs to remain a Diocesan, and delegate all administrative duties to a General Secretary (or some such). Of the 38 provinces of the Anglican Communion, only two have a Primate who is not also a Diocesan--us and Canada. Even the titular head of the communion, the Archbishop of Canterbury, is the bishop of something. He has a diocese. Sure, he has help running it, and he spends  lots of time away, but on any given Sunday morning, it is not remarkable for him to be visiting a parish--preaching, confirming, celebrating the Eucharist--in the Diocese of Canterbury. Heck, even the Pope has a diocese, and it is only by virtue of being the Bishop of Rome that he is everything else he is. We would, of course, need to remove the canon that requires the Presiding Bishop to visit all the dioceses. And it would have to become the norm that that the Bishop-President of each province would be the chief consecrator of new bishops. But we've done it before, and we can do it again.
• The President of the House of Deputies needs to be just that--and only that. The scope of this office has mushroomed exponentially, but only over the last few triennia. This is unfortunate. It has not been ever thus. We need a PHoD who will scale the job back. Way back. The PHoD is not a co-primate. She or he is not a public spokesperson for the Episcopal Church. The PHoD's job is to preside over the House of Deputies, while the House of Deputies is in session. Yes, it takes someone who has the capacity in his or her life to take the time to make appointments to General Convention committees and CCABs. But, in the new world, won't there be considerably fewer of each? 

These suggestions are horse pills for many. They would create casualties. Adaptive change does that. And this is barely the tip of the iceberg of the painful decisions General Convention needs to make. The scary fact, however, is that the only body with the authority to initiate and prosecute thorough reform is the very body most in need of that reform. History is not encouraging about such a combination of circumstances. Getting past this difficulty will require a special infusion of the Holy Spirit that enables us to start behaving like a church and not a legislative assembly. Kyrie eleison. 

I Agree With the Presiding Bishop

OK ... now that I have your attention...

The Presiding Bishop spoke this afternoon to the regular triennial Synod of the Province of the Midwest. My profound theological differences with her are no secret. The way she and I would articulate "gospel" and "mission" are not only divergent; they are in different solar systems.

That said, I thought she made some profoundly important and true points in her remarks, and I cannot but add my own enthusiastic Amen. Let me cite (and paraphrase as best I can) the two that made me want to stand up and applaud:

1. We have allowed the legislative process to have an undue influence in the way we relate to one another. Every controverted question inevitably (and fairly quickly) becomes a Yes or No vote. This creates winners and losers, and polarizes the church. We need to find ways to be more patient with and forbearing of one another--quicker to listen and slower to act.
2. We are suffocating in our own structures. Our very life as a church depends on our willingness to cast off that yoke, setting aside business-as-usual in order to attend to core issues of identity and purpose.

To these observations I would add my own suggestion: That the 2012 General Convention make issues of structure not only the primary issue, but the only issue. Let us elect to those offices that need electing to, and let us pass a straitened minimalist budget. But aside from those two things, we need to put everything else--everything else--in abeyance until we figure out what we need to morph into in order to be a responsibly faithful church in this post-Christian era. 

Any takers?

On Christian Formation

I was recently asked by a lay person who occupies a position of leadership in the diocese to share whatever I might on "Christian formation" as she ponders how her own ministry is configured toward that end. Here's what I wrote:

Here, off the top of my head, are some "marks" of what Christian formation should aim at/produce:

• A secure awareness of a relationship with God in Christ, in the company of the Church.
• An ability to verbalize that relationship with confidence and clarity.
• A basic familiarity with the long arc of the narrative of scripture--the series of covenants in the Old Testament (Noah, Abraham, Moses, David, the Exiled Jews), the life of Jesus, the story of the early church in Acts.
• A habit of corporate worship on Sundays and daily private prayer, along with related spiritual disciplines.
• An awareness of vocation--a habit of asking the question, "What is God calling me to do?"
• An awareness of one's spiritual gifts, and a passion for exercising them.

There could be more, but this seems enough of a challenge!

Part IV of Lenten Teaching Series

Vocation and Spiritual Gifts: the Promise of Ministry

On Communion Without Baptism

The Diocese of Eastern Oregon has introduced a resolution that would remove the Episcopal Church's canon that makes Holy Baptism a prerequisite for the reception of Holy Communion. It's too early to tell whether it will even make it out of committee and on to the floor of General Convention for debate this July, but it's certainly not a bold from the blue: The restrictive canon is already honored in many places more in the breach than in the observance. It's been a subject of conversation and debate for some years now.

What we are witnessing in this discussion, I think is the Law of Unintended Consequences asserting itself. When we gradually recovered the centrality of the Eucharist during the last century, codified in the 1979 BCP, the presumed cultural environment was still that of "Christendom." An unbaptized adult was a relative rarity. At the same time, there was also a presumption that whatever happens on Sunday morning is the church's "show window" to the world, that the experience of corporate worship would be a newcomer's first encounter (even if invited by a friend) with who we are and what we do. It would be the worship service that would either draw them deeper or, for whatever reason, turn them away. Now, there is the added factor of the exponential secularization of our society; there are vestiges, artifacts, of Christendom, but they are disappearing rapidly. 

As a result, we now have a sort of "perfect storm": We have unbaptized adults walking through our doors, curious or inquiring to one degree or another, and encountering, of course, the Eucharist, and a tacit "vibe" that going forward to receive communion is simply what one does, especially if one wishes to remain inconspicuous. And those of us who identify ourselves as the "hosts" of these our "guests" feel like we're being downright impolite if we place any restriction on who may receive the sacrament. Hence, the pressure to bend or amend the rules.

But, is there another possible response that honors both the received tradition and the impulse toward hospitality? I think there are at least two--one a stopgap, of sorts, and the other more profound.

The stopgap: This past January 7, my Archdeacon and I attended a Christmas liturgy at a nearly Russian Orthodox church. We were in clericals, people there knew who were were, and we knew we were not invited to receive Holy Communion, and made no attempt to do so. But immediately upon the conclusion of the liturgy, we were accosted by a lay liturgical minister who brought us unconsecrated bread that came from the same loaf that the consecrated portion had been cut from--the "antidoron"--and were enthusiastically offered this bread. I have rarely felt more welcomed in my life. That act, to me, was "radical hospitality." I'm not sure how something like this could be adapted into our liturgical tradition, but it seems worth thinking about.


The profound: Our post-Christian world certainly is not the same as the "pre-Christian" world before Constantine, but there are some significant commonalities. Might we not learn from some of the praxis of the pre-Constantinian church? The whole process of the catechumenate--integral to the baptismal piety that so many are keen to foster--is adapted from this era. But one thing we have not adopted is the "privacy" of the Eucharist. Service times were not only not widely published, a non-Christian would have had to know somebody who knows somebody to even learn when and where the Eucharist would be celebrated. And even when successful at discovering that information, an unbaptized inquirer would not only be denied communion, but barred from even remaining in the same room after the homily. The Creed, the Prayers of the People, and the Peace were also the exclusive preserve of the baptized. 

I'm not suggesting we go back to meeting in secret, but I do wonder whether we might do well to shed the presumptive expectation that the principal liturgy on Sunday is where the uninitiated will have their first and defining encounter with us. Some might say, "Sure, let's have Morning Prayer, or some non-liturgical form of public worship, in addition to the Eucharist." I think that's worth exploring under some circumstances, but probably doesn't go far enough. It still assumes that our goal is to get "them" to come to "us". I, for one, am more excited about a mission stance that takes "us" to "them"--connecting with people outside of any worship, at the level of their felt needs, and walking with them until we've earned the privilege of inviting them to consider other needs they may not have been aware of, to consider the questions for which Jesus is the answer. And then we fan that spark of faith and begin to form them in discipleship, perhaps before they've even come within a mile of our church building! Then, as the last step of the process, we baptize them and introduce them to the Eucharist.

There are, I believe, many advantages to such a strategy, but one of them is that the Eucharist is freed to be what it is, and not pressured to be something it's not (like a "tool" for evangelism). There's no more reason to "dumb it down" in any way to be "seeker sensitive" ... or even radically hospitable. Christian corporate worship is for all--both Christians and "pre-Christians." The Eucharist is for the initiated, the baptized. We need to learn to be clear about that distinction.

House of Bishops, Day 5

This was the final day of the House of Bishops meeting. We woke up to lightning, thunder, rain, and cooler temperatures--a marked change from the warm and pleasantly sultry days we have been enjoying. The meditation after Morning Prayer today was given by Julio Holguin, Bishop of the Dominican Republic. He spoke to us in Spanish, so this time it was the anglophones who had to don headsets and avail themselves of the services of the two-person simultaneous translator team that has been with us since we got here. His subject  was the bishop's duty to lead the church in mission. This is, of course, a subject very close to my heart. In our table group discussion, I raised the delicate subject of the divergence of thought in the church over what mission is, exactly. It does no good to exhort one another to mission-mindedness if we're not actually talking about the same thing.

Before lunch, we also heard from Bishop Justin Welby of the Diocese of Durham, who was our invited visiting observer from the Church of England. He spoke very winsomely of the clearer insight into the Episcopal Church that he has gained during his time with us.

In the afternoon, we had our only true business session--the the Presiding Bishop doing precisely that for which her office primarily exists, and following Roberts' Rules. We approved a statement of greeting to the Archbishop of Canterbury, whose resignation (effective at the end of the year) was announced late last week. The primary item on the agenda was the "enchanced DEPO" proposal that was introduced yesterday. This presented me with my first opportunity to speak in the HoB in actual debate (I spoke in favor). I was a little nervous (!), so I used my iPad to remind me of some points I had jotted down after lunch. There was a handful of fairly non-substantive amendments that were proposed and approved, and then the motion itself was adopted overwhelmingly on a voice vote. This is a good thing. Not an earth-shatteringly good thing, perhaps, but a good thing, nonetheless.

We had a closing Eucharist before dinner, with the Bishop of Kansas presiding and the Bishop Suffragan of Texas preaching. It has been the custom in the House, apparently, to dress up a bit for the final dinner. I am not given to that sort of thing, nor did I come prepared to do so. I did, however, assure everyone that I do own a navy blazer, since that seemed to be the uniform of the day. I draw the line, though, at bow ties. Not gonna go there.

A word about worship at House of Bishops: I would not want to be in charge (well, actually I would, but still...) because there's no pleasing everybody. The music was led by a frighteningly talented and able musician (Dent Davidson, from Chicago). I would certainly have preferred more music from a place closer to the center of the tradition and less from the margins. I don't mind a little new stuff, but I miss the solid familiar stuff. And the services themselves seem not to have been put together by people who know how to "think liturgically"--or even pay attention to texts and rubrics, for that matter. A gathering of bishops should be able to do better.

House of Bishops, Day 4

I'm not by nature a "morning person." But this being St Joseph's Day, and the first anniversary of my consecration, I got up for the 7:30 Eucharist in a side chapel of the chapel (All Saints' Chapel is larger than many cathedrals). I can only be grateful for my first year as a bishop. It has been several degrees happier and more effective than I had anticipated. God is good.

After breakfast, and following Morning Prayer, the retreat meditation was given by the Presiding Bishop on the vows bishops take to "guard the faith, unity, and discipline of the Church" and to participate in the governance of the whole church. During the reflection/prayer time afterward, I took a long walk through the piney woods (staying on Camp Allen property) and had ample opportunity to think about how I understand "guarding" to begin with acknowledging the given-ness of the Catholic Christian faith. It's not mine to make up; it's mine to hand along. Intact. This is both a responsibility and a relief. Just before lunch we reassembled at our table groups to briefly "process" the PB's meditation and our own reflections.

After lunch, I had a wonderful visit with Justin Welby, the newish Bishop of Durham in the Church of England. We operate, of course, in vastly different contexts, yet we were both amazed at what similar visions we have of the larger missional environment of western culture--a culture that is substantially post-Christian--and of the necessity not to deny or resist the new secular age, but to embrace it, to say "bring it on", and then learn how to be the church in that environment. It was a thoroughly refreshing and encouraging conversation.

The afternoon was free. I processed a bunch of emails, which always takes longer than I expect, and spent some quality time on the treadmill before dinner.

After dinner, we came back together at our tables for two presentations and brief discussions. The first was by Ian Douglas, Bishop of Connecticut, on possible responses to the Anglican Covenant. He and two colleagues have prepared a resolution, which we saw tonight for the first time, that would affirm the spirit of the Covenant and the text of the first three sections, and call for continued study of all the implications that Section 4 would have on the Episcopal Church, including and especially our constitution and canons. There was brief plenary discussion. The intent of this resolution is to not "just say No" to the Covenant, but to not say Yes either, the end being keeping a place for TEC's delegation at the next meeting the Anglican Consultative Council this fall. My sense is that, even so, it will meet heavy resistance.

The other topic was a proposal from a working group of five bishops, chaired by Ed Little of Northern Indiana (and including Rivera of Eastern Oregon, Fitzpatrick of Hawaii, Doyle of Texas, and Smith of North Dakota), to revise the 2004 document adopted by the HoB, "Caring for All the Churches," which institutes Delegated Episcopal Oversight (DEPO), an arrangement by which parishes that consider themselves to be theological minorities in their dioceses to come under the pastoral care of a bishop other than their who whose theological views are more compatible than their own. DEPO has worked well in a number of cases, though they tend to stay quietly under the radar. The proposed revisions are by way of strengthening the document and taking a longer view. It makes provisions for DEPO to extend to the ordination process, such that a "theological minority" candidate who suffers from discrimination in one diocese and  is a member of a DEPO parish, can be "processed" by the diocese of the DEPO bishop. This proposal will be debated and voted on tomorrow. It will be controversial, and I am making no predictions. I will support it, of course. The few theological conservatives left in the Episcopal Church need some sort of good faith signal that we are not being just tolerated for the moment in the hope that we will die off and become a speck in the corporate memory, but that there will be a place for us indefinitely. Stay tuned.

Spring House of Bishops, Day 3

Being the Lord's Day, the schedule was appropriately relaxed (in welcome contrast to Sundays in previous meetings). Eucharist was at 10, with a meditation from Porter Taylor, Bishop of Western North Carolina, taking the place of the homily. His subject was the vow bishops make at their ordination to be faithful pastors to their people. Different in style than either of the two previous meditations, it was nonetheless rich and stimulating. I am feeling spiritually fed by these talks. Today there was no table group unpacking session, so we adjourned to the common area and engaged in informal conversations as we waited for lunch to be served. Such moments of casual exchange are arguably the most valuable aspect of these gatherings.

After lunch, various recreational opportunities were offered. I chose to go on a horseback trail ride with eight others. Interestingly, the last time I rode a horse was six years ago, and it was right here at Camp Allen (where I was reading General Ordination Exams). Following the ride, I had an extended conversation with a retired bishop over some mission-related issues. Then I did some work--processed a bunch of emails and scheduled a bunch of tasks.

After dinner there was an event--a regular one at HoB meetings--styled a "fireside chat." With over a hundred bishops in a large room, sharing one microphone, it was hardly a chat. The Presiding Bishop presides (how appropriate) but the agenda is open, whatever anybody wants to bring up. The subject that dominated the discussion was the need, perceived very strongly, to radically restructure the governance and management of the Episcopal Church. I will not go into any of the details in this venue, since we were not in formal business session and thus incapable of taking any official actions, and even if we were were in session, the sort of actions we might have taken would not be available to us outside a meeting of General Convention. Suffice it to say that everything--absolutely everything, by way of polity and governance--was "on the table" in this discussion.

Spring House of Bishops, Day 2

Same morning routine as yesterday. The retreat-style meditation (in name only, it was actually a sermon) was by Michael Curry, Bishop of North Carolina. His topic was the vow that bishop's take to "proclaim the gospel." Put bluntly, the man can preach. It made me wonder why I even attempt to do so, except that I know it to be my calling. But ... wow. As with yesterday, we had about 75 minutes on our own for prayer and reflection, then gathered at our tables to continue to process the subject. I am actually finding this pattern to be quite welcome, especially in the wake of the extremely content-heavy agendas of the last two meetings.

Lunch was with the group of Communion Partner bishops. Ten were in the room--diocesans, retired, and suffragans--with three more who would have been there but for other commitments. We now form the "right wing" of the HoB, though, in times past, most would have been labeled "moderate conservatives." The center of gravity has shifted. We did some organizing and broad stroke strategizing in anticipation of this summer's General Convention. There is no path to "victory" of any sort, so it's all about the most faithful and effective way to simply bear witness. This is actually kind of liberating. And we are aware of a need to exercise more visible pastoral leadership as a group on behalf of those who will find the actions of that convention cause for consternation.

The agenda for the afternoon was a report from five bishops who have been involved in the development of a rite for the blessing of same-sex relationships, with accompanying supporting materials. There was actually a read-through of the liturgy, with two bishops taking the lines of those committing themselves to one another. After a few "clarifying questions" in plenary (some of which did not actually meet that description), we had a period of discussion at our tables, and then were sent to breakout rooms where larger groups (about three tables worth) engaged in Indaba-style dialogue.

No one should be surprised that I am among those opposed to the entire project, on principle. I will vote against it, whatever form the rite takes in the end. For that reason, I'm not in a position to offer feedback on its details, fine-tuning language, etc. So I have the luxury of observing, as it were, from a distance. And what I see is a developing struggle between hard-core ideological liberals for whom anything but "full marriage equality" will still be a denial of justice, and institutional liberals who would like there to be some authorized rite for same-sex blessings but are not really interested in it looking anything like marriage. The rite that is being proposed is, in my estimation, marriage by another name, despite the protestations of its authors that it's simply a "blessing" liturgy. It's doesn't use the word "marriage," but it borrows heavily from the vocabulary and structure of the marriage liturgy. And can anyone question what the headline will be in the secular media the day after we pass the authorizing resolution?

The silver lining in all this is that the proposal is for this rite to be new resource entitled Liturgical Resources One--that is, not appended to any currently extant liturgical book, thus placing it under the authority of the Bishop Diocesan as to whether it may be used.

In the evening, eleven of the twelve bishops (one being "under the weather") of the Class of 2011 (those elected during 2010) journeyed up to College Station for dinner at a Tex-Mex restaurant. Very, very nice.

Spring House of Bishops, Day 1

We're at Camp Allen, the outsize conference center owned and operated by the Diocese of Texas, about 60 miles northwest of Houston.

This meeting has a more humane pace than the other two I have attended, especially the one a year ago at Kanuga. There was an attempt among the planners to invoke more of a retreat atmosphere. Each morning there is a meditation by one of our colleagues on one of the vows from the liturgy for the consecration of bishops. Today we were heard from Tom Shaw, Bishop of Massachusetts, on the place of prayer and scripture in the life of a bishop.

In the afternoon, there was a working session, with presentations from committees on two issues. The first was the development of a process--a canon, actually--to govern those relatively rare occasions when a bishop and the others leaders of a diocese come to an impasse in their relationship. There was vigorous discussion, and, I would say, a fair amount of pushback on the draft presented by the committee. I must confess that, while the situation that calls for such a canon does indeed occur, and can be quite vexing, it seems bad policy to make law based on exceptional cases. I could not help also observing that those who are advocating for defining the process of reconciliation/dissolution in minute detail are those who oppose the Anglican Covenant for being too juridical and prescriptive. Ironic.

Item the second was the use of social media at HOB meetings--specifically Twitter. A draft policy is now in circulation. IMHO, it's a little unrealistically restrictive, and fails to take account of the undeniable fact that if some can be done, it will be done. We shall see.

Dinner was too much of a good think, as in too many yummy choices. Blessedly, nothing but social time (with a little NCAA watching) in the evening. I got in a good workout on the treadmill after dinner.

Humorous moment of the day (one that I can repeat, at least): The office hymn at Morning Prayer was "nearer My God to Thee." At moments, it does indeed feel as through we're on the Titanic! (Trust me, I wasn't the only one who made the association.)

Patterns of Ministry: Part III

The Icon of Ministry: Holy Orders

Part II of Lenten Teaching Series

Patterns of Ministry: Baptism--The Mark of Ministry

Patterns of Ministry: What's In a Word?

Session One of my Lenten teaching series in Alton Parish (St Paul's Church):

What's At Stake in the Anglican Covenant Debate

A letter to the Church Times from to Church of England bishops: From the Bishops of Bristol and Oxford Sir, — As the majority of dioceses are soon to debate the Anglican Communion Covenant, and there is in some quarters suspicion or even hostility towards it, we would urge a pause for reflection about what is at stake, both for the Anglican Com­munion as a whole and for our own Church of England. The Covenant process has been developed with the full participa­tion of all the Churches of the Anglican Communion. It is prob­ably the most consulted-over document the Communion has ever known. At heart, it offers a way for the Churches to renew their com­mit­­ment to each other and to ex­press their common Anglican identity and mission. It is some­thing that our own Church has been at the centre of shaping and devel­oping. This renewed commitment is vital for the well-being of the Anglican Communion, coming at a time of disagreement and conflict over certain issues, but also amid a climate of fractiousness and often impatient communication. The Covenant says nothing about these issues, whether disagreements over human sexuality, or views over the ordination of women as bishops. Despite the anxieties that some people are projecting on to the Covenant, the Covenant text is intentionally silent about such questions. The Covenant does not solve these debates, but rather sets out what is commonly held to be essential to our Anglican (and Christian) identity, and describes the best practice of how com­munion may be sustained within the Anglican Communion — in short, how we participate in a com­mon mission, and how we take counsel together for mutual dis­cern­ment. The Covenant does not invent anything new. The Covenant’s description of our Anglican identity is exactly that which we have long subscribed to in our ecumenical agreements with other Churches. The description of and commitments towards our common life are exactly those that our Church exercises through participa­tion in the Instruments of Com­munion (the Lambeth Conference, Anglican Consultative Council, and Primates’ Meeting), as well as in the respect afforded to the Arch­bishop of Canterbury as instrument of communion and focus of unity. Neither does the Covenant create any new powers, centralising or otherwise. Despite some of the views being advanced elsewhere, the Covenant rests on the autonomy of the individual Churches of the Communion, an autonomy that is to be exercised in communion and with mutual accountability. Nor are any new powers granted to the Instruments of Communion. Instead, the Covenant constitutes a set of commitments: to consult together; to continue to discern together through areas of serious disagreement; to maintain the highest degree of communion possible, etc. These are not about binding each other, but about refusing to walk away from or disregard each other. Disagreements are inevitable, and we are realistic about the depth of disagreement over some issues. The Covenant is essential, because it helps us both to live with and to address these differences. The Covenant offers an honest way forward, in which the nature of such differences can be discussed. The Covenant provides a frame-work for sustaining our common life even when difficult issues remain unresolved. For both of us, the importance of the Covenant is reinforced by our relationships so valued in our Communion links. Sustained com­munion is vital for the Church in the face of political fissures and conflict, while, for very many in the Communion, the sustaining of our common life brings hope for the overcoming of ethnic and economic divides. The Anglican Communion Covenant is currently under consideration in all the Churches of the Communion, according to their own processes for adoption. Already nine have decided to adopt it. A lukewarm response or, worse, rejection of the Covenant in the Church of England would meet with bewilderment in the wider Communion. Some would ask with the prophet Isaiah, “Can a mother forget her children?” But it would also impoverish the Church of England. Our church life and mission is infinitely the richer for the relationships we share around the Communion. The Cov­enant offers us a precious oppor­tun­ity to consolidate those relation­ships and to demonstrate our commitment to one another as Churches. Let’s not miss this oppor­tunity offered to us in our time. MICHAEL BRISTOL 58a High Street Winterbourne Bristol BS36 1JQ JOHN OXON Diocesan Church House North Hinksey Oxford OX2 0NB

Notes from a Canterbury Pilgrimage

Between 19 January and 1 February I was in England. The primary purpose of the trip was to attend a program for new(er) bishops from around the Anglican Communion that is offered by Canterbury Cathedral. I also spent a little time on my own in London, and visited clergy friends in the Oxford and Salisbury dioceses. The day-to-day experiences of the trip are chronicled on my diary blog, so I won't try to reproduce that here. This will be more by way of random buckshot observations about life in the U.K. as I experienced it, both in general and from the perspective of an Anglican Christian.

England Wasted on the English

An American friend of mine living in England observed that "England is wasted on the English." People who live in a country where they might find Roman coins while digging in their garden are apt to not even give that possibility a second thought, but be consumed with anxiety over the next episode of their favorite reality TV series. (In America, by contrast, there are groups devoted to the preservation of mid-twentieth century architecture.) This photo is taken in the chancel of the parish church of St Nicholas in the village of Tackley in Oxfordshire. The church has stonework dating back to Saxon times, but most of it is Norman. What we're looking at is the grave of one of the previous vicars of the parish (my American friend Mark Clavier being the present incumbent). Nobody knows his name or when he served. But there he lies, nonetheless, a constant reminder to his scores of successors of their own mortality. It kind of makes me wish I could keep Ash Wednesday in that church.

In the nearby village of North Steeple (also looked after by Fr Clavier), some medieval artwork, dating from the time it was a monastic foundation, was recently rediscovered in the parish church, and is in the process of being restored. It's amazing that such things as these are lying around a country church.

Antiquity itself seems to confer a sort of "right of eminent domain." The Puritans, both in the 16th and 17th centuries, defaced countless images (often by whacking the heads off), and smashed a tremendous amount of stained glass. Some of this has been restored or replaced (usually by the Victorians, and usually quite well, IMO), but most of it hasn't. The act of destruction has been neither completed nor erased. If vandalism (or just normal wear and fading, such as the wall painting in the crypt of Canterbury Cathedral, which, in its day, was stunning and bright) were to occur today, it would be immediately repaired. But if vandalism or wear occurred centuries ago, it seems to enjoy a certain protected status. I can't see a consistent pattern for what gets fixed and what doesn't. At some times, the guardians of these historic places seem quite comfortable with their being organic, living entities, and install things like glass doors, contemporary art, and very modern-looking light fixtures and chairs. At other times, they act like museum curators, and leave a statue headless because the act of desecration itself is deemed "historic." I honestly don't get it. Still, I am able to find some of it amusing, such as these graffiti on a column in the nave at Canterbury.

Right Out of Central Casting
A lifetime of watching movies and TV shows by and about England and its people leads to certain stereotypes, both explicit and subliminal. Middle-aged and older people, especially in rural areas, are most apt to confirm these stereotypes. Case in point: A man who dons a necktie (you can't see it here, but he was wearing one) to do manual labor or otherwise traipse around in the outdoors is probably not an American. This gentleman is a churchwarden at North Steeple happened to be walking his dogs (which are themselves sort of a stereotype), which was a good thing, because the church was locked owing to the restoration work going on, so he was able to let us in.

This lovely extroverted lady in her winter tweeds is a member of the regular worshiping community at Canterbury Cathedral (cathedrals in England are generally not parish churches, though they effectively function as extra-territorial parishes) who showed up at the study centre looking for a particular bishop. I didn't catch her name, but I do recall that she is 83 years old and her bicycle's name is Gertie. She was very gracious to allow me to take her picture.

Of course, village churches that date back to medieval times are themselves stereotypes. The four that I saw (Tackley, Steeple Aston, North Steeple in Oxfordshire and Hilmarton in the Salisbury Diocese) are very high on exterior postcard appeal and rather low on interior functionality. There are so many structural idiosyncrasies, and liturgical sensibilities have changed so much since the Middle Ages, that actually worshiping in most of these buildings is a challenge.

On the other hand, I was delighted to discover how seriously they take church bells. When I arrived at St Lawrence's in Hilmarton, accompanying Bishop Graham Kings to a special service honoring the original edition King James Bible that they discovered tucked away in a cupboard, there was a dedicated group of bell ringers producing a wonderful peal for several minutes. I even recorded a nice video of this activity, but don't seem able to put it into a form in which this blogging software's server will load it. Sorry.


London

This is a city that I absolutely love. Upon retirement, if my health and finances were to permit me to live there for a year or two, I would be elated. For an aficionado (such as myself) of urban rail transit, it doesn't get any better than the London Underground (aka "tube") system, with its ubiquitous logo, and the unfailing admonition to "mind the gap." In some parts of the city (especially along the north bank of the Thames west toward Westminster, and including the theatre district), Underground stations are so plentiful that I found myself rather unconcerned with being able to mentally retrace my route as I meandered around (an impossible task anyway, even for someone with as finely-tuned inner an compass as my own!), since there would always soon be a tube stop at which I could reorient myself and quickly be on my way toward wherever I wanted to go next.

When I was last in London, in 2005, the Edgware Road corridor (shown above looking north from my hotel window) was already quite Middle Eastern in flavor. In the intervening seven years, that character has only gotten more pronounced. A significant percentage of women wore some form of Muslim attire, ranging from a simple head scarf to full body and face concealment. Restaurants and stores with signs and menus in Arabic abound, and men are seated at sidewalk tables smoking hookas (I was there just before the weather turned foul).

Speaking of smoking, however, the most welcome change since 2005 has been the cessation of smoking in indoor public places. So pubs and other restaurants and bars are now much friendlier environments. Sidewalks, however ... not so much. Those who are addicted to nicotine simply just stand outside the doors of said establishments to take care of their needs. On balance, though, it's a huge improvement.

Part of the fun, of course, lies in noticing how Brits and Americans are, as Churchill observed, two peoples divided by a common language. It's not that we say different things, or in ways that the other group cannot understand; we just say the same things differently. I get it that this trash can is not for recyclables. But I would not think of putting it that way. When I got some cash out of an ATM ("cash machine" in local parlance), I was asked whether I required an "advice slip." What no doubt strikes a native as a matter-of-fact inquiry strikes me as polite to the point of endearing quaintness. Why is that? Here's another one (slightly blurry, but readable) at a railway station in Oxford.

Also since my last visit, there seems to have been a large in-migration from eastern Europe, and most of the young women from that migration seem to have landed in the hotel industry. Way too broad a generalization, I realize, but that's how it felt.


Evensong
Benedictine monasticism was a huge component in English culture, both civil and religious, for the better part of a millennium. Under Henry VIII, of course, the monasteries were dissolved. Nonetheless, even as the remains of abbeys continued to dot the physical landscape, artifacts of the Benedictine ethos were absorbed and given new context in the reconfiguration of the English Church. The services of Morning and Evening Prayer were no doubt intended by Archbishop Cranmer to make the essence of the Benedictine tradition of daily prayer accessible to the ordinary faithful, and they indeed did so. Yet, folk art will inexorably find a way to incarnate itself as fine art. Anglican Choral Evensong is the fruit of that process. It is a refined form of worship that some find decadent and elitist. If it is the only way one worships corporately, that charge might have some merit. I prefer to think of it as an elegant dessert that caps off a well-balanced meal of Eucharist, life in Christian community, and private prayer. And, in the tradition of "life is short; eat dessert first," there is some anecdotal evidence that Choral Evensong is itself a vehicle on which some hitch a ride in the direction of that fuller diet. Suffice it to say, however, that I ate a lot of "dessert" while on the Mother Ship--nine Evensongs in five locations (Canterbury, St Paul's, and Southward Cathedrals, and All Saints Church, Margaret Street). It is an expensive and labor-intensive endeavor, so I am all the more impressed that the cathedrals (even the smaller ones, if Southwark is indicative) seem to take it as an obligatory part of their ministry to offer this service five to seven times a week. Impressed ... and grateful. Even this feline Canon of Southwark (Canon Mousecatcher?) is eager for it to begin.

On Being the Church of England

I went to England as an Anglican Christian, as a member of a church (indeed, a bishop in a church) that is in every way a child (a rebellious child, at times!) of the Church of England. Not unexpectedly, then, there was a deep sense of still being "at home," of being with "my own people." Indeed, at some levels, there was a sense of being at home and among my own more intensely than when I'm actually at home and among my own.

Still, there are vast differences. Size, both geographic and numeric, is one. I've been told that the Diocese of Springfield is roughly the same number of square miles as the whole of Ireland. Yet, we only have 36 worshiping communities, and barely 20 full-time clergy positions. In England, this is hardly enough to make up a decent-size deanery. There are over 800 parishes in the Diocese of Oxford. The Bishop of Sherborne, who is a suffragan of Salisbury, told me he oversees more than 200 parishes.

But there is not only absolute size, there is relative size ... and not only size, but influence. The Church of England, of course, is established. This means that parish boundaries have not only ecclesiastical significance, but civil significance as well. Everybody who lives in a parish has a legal right to the services of the parish clergy for baptisms, weddings, and funerals, regardless of whether they are active in church life in any other way. Clergy are civil servants, functionaries of the realm. There is a good chance that the local public school (in the American sense of "public") is church-affiliated, with the local Vicar serving ex oficio as a member of the governing board, and in charge of overseeing the mandatory religious instruction component in the curriculum. In many villages, the Anglican church is the only church in town, and if there's another, it's likely to be Methodist. Outside of cities, Roman Catholicism is largely invisible, and even in urban areas, you have to hunt for their churches, whereas you can barely throw a stone without hitting a Church of England building. The smorgasbord of church brand names that is so taken for granted in America is just not to be found.

Sounds pretty wonderful, right?

Wrong.

In fact, Christianity in Britain is in a much weaker position than it is in the U.S. The general tenor of society is substantially more secular, and the level of vocal opposition to religion of any sort is much louder. It is considered unseemly to mention God in political discourse. The religious instruction component in the schools is not instruction in religion, but instruction about religion. Church attendance as a percentage of population is markedly lower than among Americans.

So why does an Episcopalian feel like he's in a world where "my people" are dominant while traveling in England? I think I figured it out. In England, members of the established church enjoy a very large piece (a decided majority) of a very small pie, along with the institutional detritus from an era when the pie itself was much larger. In America, the pie is considerably bigger (though increasingly shrinking), but Anglicans (whether Episcopalians or the various other iterations) have to share it with many, many others--and, in fact, can barely lay claim to a crumb. So we feel ever more invisible. These are two very different worlds, but the challenge is the same: being a mission-driven (by which I mean evangelistic) church in a secular society. Neither of us knows how to do that very well yet. We need to learn fast.