Eve of All Hallows

There's a house a few blocks from where I live, on one of my regular walking routes, where Hallowe'en is the highlight of the owner's year. He puts up his decorations gradually, beginning about two months in advance, in the high heat of summer, with a digital sign that changes daily indicating the number of days left until October 31. The item in the picture here is, in my perverted opinion, his masterpiece, though some might argue for the pirate ship (see way below). I've actually met the guy (the owner of the house, that is, not the one in the picture), and he seems pretty normal, thirtysomething.

While he is certainly, by any definition, a little over the top and around the bend, the difference between him and rest of us is one of degree, not of kind. We find Hallowe'en strangely compelling, even as we disguise our feelings in playfulness, because we find the subject of death hugely compelling. It is the sum of all our fears. Whatever momentary worry we may experience during the course of a day, there is a direct chain between the feeling of that moment and our fear of death.

So how is it that we have come to mock that which we fear? It is, I suspect, a speciation of the same genre from which we get gallows humor. Some of our pre-Christian forebears in northern Europe apparently had an annual ritual in which they lampooned death and everything associated with it, including the spirits of the departed, evil and otherwise. In due course, the Church in the west, as a matter of mission strategy, exploited this observance and baptized it, linking it with the great festival of All Saints (or All Hallows; hence the eve thereof contracted to Hallowe'en).

In this context--the context of a festival in which we celebrate the exquisitely thin veil between the living in Christ and the dead in Christ--mocking death and the symbols of death begins to transcend gallows humor and make some actual sense. The defeat of Death by the resurrection of Jesus is the linchpin of all that it means to be a Christian. It is that alone which allows us to negotiate the territory of our primal fears with some degree of grace, and even joy. It is the truth of Easter that makes Hallowe'en possible. If Christ is risen from the dead, then those who have died with him in baptism stand in a pretty good place from which to mock.

On the Efficacy of Prayer

To be clear: I believe that it is the joyful privilege of Christians to pray for "the sick, the friendless, and the needy" and for "those in any kind of trouble" (both quotes are from the Book of Common Prayer, 1979). I believe such prayer may and ought to include specific petitions for specific outcomes. I also believe that God can and does act in the lives of those who pray and those who are prayed for in such ways as effect their healing, and that such healings often cannot be readily explained by medical science and may indeed, from a perspective of faith, be classified as miracles.

That said, I must confess that I get a little queasy when I hear language along the lines of "prayer works." 

A screwdriver certainly works to drive a screw. A hammer works to drive a nail. A lawn mower works to cut the grass. There is an evident and expected outcome to the use of each of these tools, provided that they are in good condition and employed under appropriate circumstances by a knowledgeable user. 

Last winter I fell and hurt my knee. A friend recommended an ointment called Blue Emu. I got some and used it and experienced temporary relief from the mild pain in my knee. I reported to my wife, "Wow. It worked!" I now recommend Blue Emu ointment myself. I have found that "it works."

Is prayer a tool? Is prayer something available for us to use, like a lawn mower or Blue Emu ointment? Would we say to someone, "Hey, try praying. If it works, great. If not, move on to something else."? 

These questions are difficult to answer with a flat out No, because it just doesn't feel right to demean something as sacred and precious to so many people as prayer. But it also doesn't feel right to cheapen prayer by putting it in the same category as Blue Emu ointment--just one more thing to try, and see if it works.

I suspect that, if we're going to talk about prayer as a tool, we would do well to think of it as a tool for God's use, not ours. God's pet project is to redeem the universe, and that includes the defeat of pain and suffering, from the trivial to the substantial to the cosmic. Blue Emu ointment is one small thread in the grand tapestry of redemption. Prayer is another one, though, I think it's safe to say, a much larger and more significant one. How all these threads fit together is something we can only catch rare glimpses of from our human point of view this side of Eternity. The virtue of humility, ever an aspirational virtue, seems to call for a certain degree of reticence in our statements about just how God is accomplishing his purposes. 

I shall keep praying. "While I breathe, I pray" (Andrew of Crete in the 7th century, via the magisterial translator John Mason Neale). I shall also keep an eye peeled for "God sightings"--miracles. But I'm still going to be uneasy about thinking of prayer as a tool at my disposal.

Looking Ahead by Looking Back

Matt Marino is an Episcopal priest who does ministry with youth and young adults in the Diocese of Arizona. As it turns out, I met him just this past summer at General Convention in Indianapolis, though the encounter had slipped my mind until he reminded me of it via Facebook message earlier today. I had contacted him on that medium to express my enthusiastic appreciation for a post that appeared on his blog last Sunday. I spotted the link on Facebook early this morning and immediately re-shared there and on Twitter. It's probably not accurate to say that it has gone "viral," but it has been passed around more times than I can keep track of, and always with unalloyed acclaim. I might add that this acclaim has come from an astonishing diversity of places on the familiar ideological spectrum, which I find more than a little bit interesting.

Father Marino's piece is primarily about the poverty of a particular model of youth ministry (and children's ministry as well) that is entrenched in the world of mega-churches and mega-church wannabes. His comments are right-down-the-middle-spot-on. I say that with some degree of verve because I managed to successfully euthanize "children's chapel" in two parishes where I was the rector, and have more recently discouraged the notion of "youth Sunday" in parishes of my diocese. Why? Because the Sunday liturgy is "owned" by all the baptized, and all the baptized, including children and youth, should have a stake in it. That can't happen if they're not there.

What had me doing backflips, however (I speak metaphorically; don't be getting a visual) was this penultimate paragraph:

Once upon a time our faith thrived in a non-Christian empire. It took less than 300 years for 11 scared dudes to take over the most powerful empire the world had ever seen. How did they do it? Where we have opted for a relevant, homogenously grouped, segregated, attractional professionalized model; the early church did it with a  multi-ethnic, multi-social class, seeker INsensitive church. Worship was filled with sacrament and symbol. It engaged the believing community in the Christian narrative. This worship was so God-directed and insider-shaping that in the early church non-Christians were asked to leave the building before communion! With what effect? From that fellowship of the transformed, the church went out to the highways and byways loving and serving the least, last and lost. In that body of Christ, Christians shared their faith with Romans 1:16 boldness, served the poor with abandon, fed widows and took orphans into their homes. The world noticed. We went to them in love rather than invited them to our event.

Anyone who's heard me give my standard post-liturgical coffee hour stump speech in parish halls across the Diocese of Springfield for about that past year could be forgiven for thinking Matt Marino and I are intentionally singing off the same song sheet. We're not. But it is affirming to see that I'm not the only crazy person who thinks that the post-Christian culture we are presently careening into invites us to look a lot more closely at the practices of our Christian forebears in the pre-Christian Roman Empire. In my moments of immodest self-assurance, I'm tempted to exclaim, "Somebody else gets it!" Of course, I'm fairly certain that I myself have not "gotten" it yet. But ... still.

As I've been pondering the whole challenge of the church's response to secularization (which, with a particular focus, Fr Marino's blog post also ponders), I'm now just about confident enough to say it outright: the Sunday Eucharist is not for visitors or guests in general, and certainly not for "seekers." We need to stop thinking of the Sunday Eucharist as a potential new member's first point of contact with the Christian community. That is a huge horse pill for us to swallow, because it contradicts all of our instincts; it is completely counter-intuitive. But if we look at that horse pill askance, that's a sign that we're still mentally in Christendom, and have not downloaded the new post-Christendom mental map. Making our buildings and services more "welcoming" to visitors made perfect sense in the old order, when not everybody went to church, but most everybody at least had a particular church that they didn't go to. It is close to completely incoherent in the post-Christian world.

The truth is, if a visitor walks into the Sunday Eucharist "cold," with the little or no prior knowledge of Christian faith or Christian worship, and does not find what goes on confusingly boring at best, and quite possibly offensive, then we're probably not doing it well enough! We've probably unwittingly dumbed it down, pandering to perceived "market" sensibilities.

So, yes, as Matt Marino says, the invitation before us is to make the mental shift from "they come to us" to "we go to them." The invitation before us is for our celebrations of the Eucharist to have more integrity and vitality than ever, not so they can be more attractive to newcomers, but so the baptized faithful can be adequately fed and energized for the work of mission and ministry in the world. None of this will be easy. It runs counter to anything most brands of Christian, especially my own, have any accumulated experience or wisdom about. A friend remarked to me today that the advent of the post-Christian era is either a catastrophe or an opportunity. If we deny it, and live mentally in a bygone time, it's a catastrophe. But if we acknowledge it, and gear up for bearing witness to gospel in the actual world we live in, letting go of the privileged status we are still tempted to think is owed to us, it can be a tremendous opportunity.

What I Learned on My Summer Vacation ... or, Our Mother In Heaven

This is the shrine in the north transept of the Cathedral Basilica of St Francis of Assisi in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The image of the Blessed Virgin, the visitor is told, is much older than the cathedral itself (which is from the late 1800s), having been brought to Santa Fe from Spain during the earliest Franciscan missionary endeavors in that region (1ate 1500s/early 1600s).

Brenda and I are just back from a week in Santa Fe. It has not been our ordinary custom to take "destination" vacations--we've tended toward touring, with no more than two nights in the same place--but with the amount of "touring" I now do in my working life, it seemed the year to go to one place and stay put for a while. So we did, and it was great. Santa Fe has long been on my "to go" list, so everything just came together beautifully, and we are very grateful for the experience we had.

At the very helpful suggestion of a neighbor, I picked up a copy of Willa Cather's classic 1927 novel Death Comes for the Archbishop, starting it a few days before the trip and finishing it on the plane four days ago while en route home. I can't imagine a better preparation for visiting northern New Mexico than reading this "episodic, nearly plotless" (per Cliff's Notes!) literary treasure. It certainly heightened my spiritual sensitivity as we visited some of the same places that are mentioned in the novel (Bernalillo, Pecos, Chimayo, and Taos, in addition to Santa Fe itself).

One of the tucked away places we were glad we stumbled on was a shrine called El Sanctuario de Chimayo, just off the "high road" between Santa Fe and Taos. Its history and reputation rest on the on the healing ministry of our Lord made quasi-sacramentally available to the faithful in ... of all things ... its dirt. A very elegant (by comparison) Walsingham has its water, and a rather more humble ("folky" might be apt, though not "folksy") Chimayo has its dirt. The whole place, from the architecture of the shrine church to the demeanor of the gift shop clerks, breathes a spirit of holiness and uncomplicated piety. We were there as barely-more-than-accidental tourists, but Chimayo is a place of pilgrimage--like Walsingham, and Lourdes, and Compostela, and many other places. And, like Lourdes, the heart's desire of the pilgrim is relief from suffering.

We all suffer, of course. Even the most privileged and comfortable in this world face the certainty of their own mortality, and wealth is no guarantor of an easy exit when the time comes. Even the fabled "1%" are disappointed and betrayed by loved ones, and have their cherished dreams dashed on the rocks of reality on a regular basis. Yet, there is an added dimension in the suffering of those who are, by any standard, poor, those who are (or were) physically incapacitated and have (or had) no therapeutic recourse simply by virtue of where (or when) they were born. It is the vocation of places like El Sanctuario de Chimayo to absorb that sort of suffering, to take it in like a holy black hole, and, in fact, to retain enough of it to allow the suffering pilgrim to go on living a while longer. These are mysterious places (an unbeliever would deem them fraudulent). Not everybody--the great majority, in fact--gets immediately and miraculously healed as a result of their visit. But some do. And so I think that places like Chimayo and Walsingham and Lourdes have a role in the redemptive economy of God. On this side of Eternity, we don't know precisely what that role is. Or perhaps those of a more "uncomplicated piety" see it more readily. But, in any case, it will become clear bye and bye.

Chimayo, unlike Walsingham and Lourdes, is not the site of a Marian apparition, and it was not my impression that the piety there is heavily Marian. Nonetheless, in any place where the Spanish influence has ever been dominant (New Mexico was part of the Spanish empire from the late 1500s until 1821), it's fairly safe to say that deep devotion to the Blessed Virgin is simply a default part of the religious fabric. So, as I was visiting Chimayo, I was able to make a ready connection with some material from Death Comes... that does focus on Mary. After an unexpected and intense episode of pastoral care for a woman long deprived of the comforts of her religion, the main character, Bishop Latour (a surrogate for the real Bishop Lamy), reflects on his experience:

He was able to feel, kneeling beside her, the preciousness of the things of the altar to her who was without possessions; the tapers, the image of the Virgin, the figures of the saints, the cross that took away the indignity of suffering and made pain and poverty a means of fellowship with Christ. Kneeling beside the much enduring bond-woman, he experienced those holy mysteries as he had in his young manhood. He seemed able to feel all that it meant to her to know that there was a Kind Woman in Heaven, though there were such cruel ones on earth. Old people, who have felt blows and toil and know the world's hard hand, need, even more than children do, a woman's tenderness. Only a Woman, divine, could know all that a woman can suffer. (p. 216)

The Anglican religious culture that I inhabit is pretty Mary-friendly. There is a Marian shrine in the rear of the cathedral nave in Springfield to which I have become quite attached. A parish in the diocese does a splendid annual Our Lady of Walsingham festival, in which a number of local Roman Catholics participate. I pray the Angelus twice daily as part of my regular devotions, and the Rosary on a regular basis. All that said, I cannot but acknowledge that devotion to the Theotokos (as distinguished from acknowledgement of the objective theological significance of Mary herself, her auxiliary role in the economy of salvation betokened by her "Fiat mihi" to Gabriel's message) is pretty much seen as adiaphora, optional. We find it more natural to honor Mary with our intellects than with our affections.

This is, I would suggest, much to be pitied, and not so much for what it deprives us of (though it deprives us of much), but for what it leaves us vulnerable to. Human beings have an instinctive need to connect with the Transcendent Feminine. In short, we need a Cosmic Mother. We are wired such that we will seek out a Cosmic Mother as surely as water will seek the most efficient route downhill. Our pagan ancestors made this connection by way of various goddesses; indeed, with Gaia, Mother Nature herself. More recently, theologians, liturgists, and others within the Christian tradition have sought assiduously to dilute, or, often, to simply eliminate and replace, the traditional language for God that casts God in masculine terms (causing language lovers to cringe because it makes it impossible to use pronouns for God, which results in really clunky diction). Terms such as "Father," "Lord," and "Almighty" are banned. Are they not patriarchal and therefore oppressive to half the human race? Any new liturgical materials produced by my own church since around 1990 thoroughly reflect this perspective. See here (from a post-evangelical who still professes Christianity) and here (from a post-Christian) for some very recent arguments in that vein from what we might call an "ordinary laypersons's" perspective (i.e. they are not formally theologically trained). The next step, of course--a step many have advocated and taken--is to adopt feminine pronouns and imagery when speaking of God. Father and Mother are deemed equivalent and interchangeable references to a Divine Parent who is beyond gender.

Now, this is completely understandable. There is some biblical interpretation out there that is, in my opinion, just plain wrong-headed, and sometimes thinly-veiled misogyny. There are male Christian leaders who have engaged in patterns of serious emotional and spiritual abuse, particularly toward women, and attempted to support that abuse by citing scripture. I don't demean the experience of those who have emerged from that sort of environment feeling wounded, and a bit angry. However, reactivity rarely yields good theology. Anyone with an investment in creedal orthodoxy (which, as a Catholic Christian, I have; those from free church evangelicalism, not so much) and/or the normative character of biblical language (evangelicals back on board now) is going to find the various attempts to "correct"  the tradition with respect to God-language highly problematic.

If we base our theologizing even partly on the notion that what we know about God we know because God has revealed that information to us, not because we reasoned our way to it or just made it up because it felt good, then we have to take seriously the terms in which that revelation is cast. We can't just toss it aside if we're uncomfortable with it. It is something given and something received. We may not always like or appreciate the gift, but there it is, nonetheless. We have to at least wrestle with it, and integrate it into our thinking and devotion somehow on its own terms. And what we are faced with pretty clearly is that, in the Christian dispensation, God is revealed to us in masculine terms. God is masculine in gender. With so much attention being paid now to fine distinctions between "sex" and "gender," it seems apposite to add: not male in sex. God is not a male. But God is masculine. God can be mother-like (the passage where Jesus ascribes to himself the qualities of a mother hen is oft cited), even as I, as a male and a father, am capable of being mother-like, and women are capable, when life demands it, of being father-like. But I can never actually be a mother. God is our Father. God is not our Mother.

Still, we do need a mother. When we are young, that need is quite concrete and literal, and, in most cases, it is satisfied by the woman who gave us birth. As we age, the need becomes more spiritual and metaphorical. As I averred above, we need--indeed, we yearn for--not just "a mother" but Mother, the Transcendent Feminine. This drive has led some--erroneously, I believe--to look for Mom in the wrong place, in the Godhead itself. Wrong, as I said, but not by much. As Bishop Latour observed after his nocturnal encounter with a slave woman in his own church, there is a Kind Woman in Heaven. She is indeed Regina Coeli--Queen of Heaven, "higher than the Cherubim, more glorious than the Seraphim" (Hymnal 1982, #618, v.2). One can rightly quibble, of course, with his attribution of "divine" status to the Blessed Mother, but one can also rightly quibble with the large portion of the Christian world that declines to see itself among the "all generations" in Mary's own rhapsodic outburst that would "call [her] blessed" (Luke 1:48).

Many among whom I live and move and have my being in Christian discipleship and church leadership form part of the gender-bending point of the spear in the evolution of the language the Church uses about God. I honor their passion and the integrity of what they understand as a witness for justice. But I believe they are mistaken. And I suspect that one of the reasons they have chosen the path they are on is because everyone has encouraged them to give Mary an affectionate pat on the head on the Fourth Sunday of Advent and a polite wave on the Annunciation (March 25), the Visitation (May 31), and her own feast day (Assumption for Roman Catholics, Dormition for Eastern Orthodox, August 15), instead of regularly singing her praises and importunately seeking her intercession on their behalf. We have neglected Our Mother in Heaven, and we are paying the price.

The Eighth Legislative Day

No committee meetings on this final day of convention, for obvious reasons. Just a pedal-to-the-medal press in both houses to get through the legislative calendar. This is more difficult for the House of Deputies, which is so large that one wag once compared it to the Supreme Soviet. By midday they were limiting debate to one minute per speaker, and later on agreed "no more amendments" (which effectively kill a resolution this late in the convention). The HoB is a rather saner environment, for which I am grateful.

The most significant work the bishops did was to unite rather resoundingly around the traditional understanding of sacramental order by which Holy Baptism is the gateway sacrament to all the others. We had a resolution from the Evangelism Committee, approved by the House of Deputies by a rather wide margin, that began by affirming the norm of Baptism leading to Eucharist, but concluded with an obliquely descriptive sentence that was clearly (given the entire context of the conversation) intended to provide leeway for the practice of "open table." Not one bishop spoke in favor of this language. Several (including YFNB) spoke against it in very strong terms. Eventually it was amended to remove the final sentence, with everyone aware that, in so doing, we were likely consigning it to "die in the bowels of the House of Deputies" (in the artful extemporaneous language of the Presiding Bishop), and this was passed resoundingly. I could not hear a dissenting vote, though I suspect there may have been a few. This was a happy outcome.

Somewhere around forty of the resolutions passed by this General Convention--a bunch of them on the last day--had to do with "social justice" and public policy issues. I went on record very early in the convention that it is bad practice for us to even consider resolutions like this. Not only does the U.S. government (to say nothing of foreign governments) not care what we think, but, in most cases, we don't have enough expertise to know what we're talking about, and the whole thing is needlessly polarizing in an already contentious political atmosphere in the church. To be more pointed: One could surmise, looking only at these resolutions, that the General Convention is the spiritual arm of the Democratic Party. But ... while the positions themselves are consistently well left of center (for example, support for the Dream Act, support for the Affordable Care Act, support for every aspiration of organized labor, condemnation of the banking industry), many of the voice votes affirming these positions in the HoB was less than resounding. Well less than resounding. My guess is that there was in many cases a majority of effective abstentions, and a lot of eye rolling over how these things clutter our agenda. It's just that very few (YFNB excepted) are keen on going audibly on record against the regnant progressive orthodoxy championed passionately by a relatively small number of enthusiasts on two committees: Social & Urban Affairs and National & International Concerns. If we could euthanize these two committees, we could have shorter conventions that focus much more efficiently on the work we really need to be doing.

A goodly number of other resolution are in the "feel good" category (affirm this, encourage that, commend something else). Most of these are completely non-controversial in their substance, but they're unnecessary. That take up committee time and clog the legislative calendar. Let's find a way to incentivize restraint in this area.

In the area of structural reform--responding to the crisis of ecclesial identity--General Convention spoke with a forked tongue. We passed a bold omnibus resolution on structure. It creates a Special Task Force, appointed by the presiding officers, but then operating outside their participation, control, or even oversight--that will begin the work of re-inventing the governance and administration of the Episcopal Church, and then summon what, for most practical purposes, amounts to a constitutional convention. This is far-reaching and "outside the box." But when presented with a couple of opportunities to unequivocally frost the cake, there was a failure of nerve. The Deputies were up to the task on one of them, passing a resolution that would have removed the requirement that a Presiding Bishop-elect promptly resign office in order to accept the new position, thus creating the possibility for a return to the part-time role that the PB exercised for most of TEC's history. But the bishops balked at this--twice, actually, because of a procedural error. I find this regrettable. Then there was a resolution that, in my mind, would have given the Special Task Force a huge jump start on its work: Eliminate all "interim bodies" (standing groups, known as CCABs, that meet and work and create work for themselves during each triennium), instead empowering the presiding officers to appoint task forces to deal with specific concurred resolutions that call for particular action, and then ride off into the sunset when that work is accomplished. We didn't do it; again, a failure of nerve.

On a personal note, I'm extremely gratified that the resolution I authored--B009--to allow bishops to authorize congregations that request it to use the lectionary for Sundays and Holy Days as it was originally printed in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, after an uphill battle in Committee 13 on two separate occasions, was concurred late yesterday by the House of Deputies. This is a small victory, and I would gladly trade it for A049 if given the chance (!), but I walked out of the convention center with a smile.

NOTE: This blog will be going dark for a while. Tomorrow I board a plane for Bangkok, where I will join Bishop Michael Smith of North Dakota in representing the Communion Partners bishops at a Global South Anglican conference on mission a networking. When I return a week later, my annual vacation begins, and I will be significantly "unplugging." So it will be at least late August before I post here again. I will continue my diary blog (at least I plan to) while in Thailand.

The Seventh Legislative Day

Most of the committees had finished their work before today, but mine met for our full 90 minutes this morning, and then some. I had forgotten that B009 (1979 lectionary), which was voted "Adopt" yesterday by the bishops, needed to come back to committee--more precisely, the deputies on the committee. So I and my colleague bishops had to sit in silence and listen to the debate. There was still strong opposition, which baffles me, but in the end, both sanity and charity prevailed, and the message going to the full HoD will be with a "Concur" recommendation. For this I am grateful.

Then we spend most of the rest of our time considering the resolution on canonically authorized Bible translations. After being passed by the Bishops, the Deputies amended it to include the English Standard Version (ESV), but not without some controversy. Its provenance in the Reformed evangelical tradition makes it suspect to some. Personally, I think it's highly preferable to the NRSV as a text, though I'm not endorsing the notes, introductions, and general critical apparatus. After tortuous parliamentary wrangling, we voted to more the ESV to its own resolution, on which we recommend referral to the SCLM for further study during the coming triennium, and sent the rest of it on to the HoB. Since bishops already have the authority to permit whatever translation they set fit, I'm wondering whether we need to just get rid of any list of "preferred" versions. 


Overall, I'm sensing (or maybe I'm just wishing it--I don't know) a bit more grace and charity from the majority toward those who seem to usually be on the losing end of votes. After all, they got their "big one" yesterday, so they can afford to be benevolent. It doesn't cost them anything. I'm already getting the "we're so glad you're still with us" comments, just like I was getting at this point in convention three years ago.

One of the talking points we made in the A049 debate was that, as a result of its passage, the rate at which the Episcopal Church is already losing members would only increase. Indeed, it's already happening. I have a steady trickle of emails, Facebook messages and status updates, and blog comments that testify to the fact that we weren't just blowing smoke when we said that. Makes the heart sad.

The House of Bishops continued to plow through legislation, always with the warning that, when the question is whether to concur with an action already taken by the Deputies, any amendments or substitutes will effectively kill the resolution, because the clock runs out tomorrow. The big ones were the budget,  and the omnibus structure resolution that was the fruit of very hard labor in committee and passed unanimously in the House of Deputies. We did the same. And we passed the budget too. (I abstained from the latter out of ethical considerations; my diocese is not paying its proportional share of the DFMS program and is not likely to begin doing so during the coming triennium.) Unfortunately, we couldn't bring that same courage and vision to the question of even allowing the option of the Presiding Bishop remaining in charge of a diocese upon election as Primate. Our refusal to do this will make the work of the structure task force that much more complex.

So it's pretty much all now over but the shouting ... and there isn't even very much of that. I have begun to nourish a fond hope that there might somehow (not at convention, but later) be an informal meeting of those who are driving the majority agenda in TEC with those who are finding themselves a disappearing minority. The question at that meeting would be, "What has to happen for you to declare victory and give it all a rest?" I have grown intensely weary of opposing whatever The Next Big Thing is. So let's just fast forward to the end: What does Mission Accomplished look like? And in that scenario, is there a place for people like me? Not as tokens, or near-strangers, but in a way in which we can maintain our full integrity. I really wish for that.

The Sixth Legislative Day

• Dismayed in the morning committee meeting when my resolution to authorize use of the 1979 lectionary came up for debate and was soundly defeated--sent to the HoB with a recommendation to "Discharge: Acted on in a Previous Convention." Where's the love?
• This was the day the bishops were allowed on to the floor of the House of Deputies for a joint session in order to hear the co-chairs of Program, Budget, & Finance present the proposed budget for the triennium. I'm not a numbers wonk, and I've only been following the process of budget formation (politically charged) rather than paying much attention to the budget itself. So I don't have much to say. They suggest it's balanced. Of course, this depends on the strength of the income projections, which can be a big "if." No, a huge one.
• The House of Bishops was once again a legislative machine. But we did manage to get all in a twist over a proposed canon on what to do when a bishop and a diocese find themselves in an unhappy marriage. We were in the midst of debating a proposed amendment to a proposed amendment to the main resolution when the whole thing got tabled until we could have private conversation about it at the beginning of the afternoon session. It was then given to an ad hoc task group to cut the Gordian knot and come up with a fix that we can consider tomorrow. The issue in question is precisely what class of bishops (all, active, diocesan being the categories), and under what circumstances (by mail, at a physical meeting) can vote when the question is forcing a bishop to resign.
• To my delight, when my lectionary resolution came to the floor, I spoke from my heart, and the committee's recommendation was reversed, by a very comfortable margin. Now it goes to the House of Deputies.
• A fairly hefty percentage of bishops and deputies are prone to Israel-bashing. So I was pleased that, owing to the hard work and strategizing of a handful of bishops and deputies, the most offensive resolutions on the subject of Middle East peace were cast aside, and the one we passed is very fair, in my opinion, to the interests of both the Israelis and the Palestinians. Of course ... it's not like anyone cares what this convention thinks on the subject.
• We also concurred with the deputies on the resolution concerning the Anglican Covenant, which is: We can't decide. Of course, I would have liked an unequivocal Yes. But a great many others would have liked an unequivocal No. So I'm claiming this as a victory.

The Fifth Legislative Day

I have closely followed every General Convention since 1976, and I have attended every General Convention since 2003 (making this my fourth). In every one of them, there was some major issue (always related in one way or another to sex or sexuality) about which I and those I hang out with in this church have been highly anxious about, fearing dire consequences if a certain action was taken. And every time, the feared action has been taken, wounds have been licked, and, most of the time, the dire consequences have, in fact, ensued. And somehow I still am where I am--actually, with a much more entrenched "insider" role than I ever would have imagined--and it's only on odd-numbered days (or is it even? I can't remember) that I can coherently explain why.

Today, that event for this General Convention happened. The House of Bishops voted (by roll call, 111 to 41, with three abstentions) to authorize the use of a standard liturgical form for same-sex marriage. The House of Deputies is certain to concur. I believe this is a huge mistake, on several levels. It's not scriptural, it's not traditional, and it's not reasonable. It's an ecumenical nightmare and an inter-Anglican train wreck. I'm very sad about it this evening. My sadness is not as profound as it was in prior years with their events. I'm kind of used to it now, and I'm able to shake off the sting a little more readily than I once could. But I'm still sad.

Yes, it's a dark cloud. But there is a silver lining. It could have been worse. In the Committee 13 debate this morning, we were able to greatly strengthen the language that not only gives bishops the authority to prohibit use of the rite in their diocese, but offers both clergy and laity concrete safeguards to protect them from retribution or canonical impairment because of this position on same-sex marriage--in the case of clergy, refusal to preside at this rite. I have been abundantly clear in the Diocese of Springfield that this form, or anything like it, will not be authorized for use.

So now we await the dire consequences, which are sure to come. The Episcopal Church will quietly lose more members (or sometimes noisily). The majority of the Anglican world will distance itself even further from us. Ecumenical relations will grow still colder. The lives of Christians who live on the frontier with Islam will be placed in even greater jeopardy. And, somehow, God will remain faithful beyond anything we can ask or imagine.

We did a few other things today as well, most of them relatively meaningless. More public policy statements, unfunded mandates, and "requests" that dioceses and congregations encourage this and advocate for than and study the other thing, which will actually get done ... virtually nowhere. That's the reason they all pass on overwhelming voice votes, because all bishops realize that they are completely at liberty to utterly forget about these resolutions the minute they get up from the table when the house recesses.

The Fourth Legislative Day

When we gather like this to make Eucharist, we offer all that we are and have for this work.  That little exchange that starts, “lift up your hearts,” is about entering another reality – some old translators put it, “hearts aloft!”  Get moving!  Go cross the frontier between heaven and earth – boldly go where Jesus has gone before – and invite others to go with you to help build the world that God intended at creation.   

So – mortals, prophets – stand up!  God is sending you to a rebellious house, full of impudent and stubborn folks.  As the prophet Pogo said, “is us.!" Your job is to go and say, “Listen up – here’s the deal, God’s got a better world in mind, and you are needed to help make it happen.”  And once you’ve started the conversation about good news, keep moving, keep showing and telling the world what God’s dream looks like.

We heard these words near the conclusion of the Presiding Bishop's homily this morning at the principal General Convention celebration of the Eucharist. It was not bad liturgy, as hotel ballroom celebrations go. The music was consistently wonderful. I was surprised and grateful that it was straight Prayer Book, with nothing doctored. Eucharistic Prayer C was used, which is certainly not my favorite, but at least the text used was right out of the book, without the tweaking of that prayer that is so ubiquitous these days.

That sermon, though. 

I can track with the PB's zeal for a mission-driven church. I share her evident interest in paying attention to society as it heads down the road of secularization. She has a gift of being able to put a compelling rhetorical flourish on her thoughts. But I am saddened by her underlying missional vision. It is way too tame, way too earthbound. 

The parables of the summertime "green season" are rife with reminders that we do not "make it happen." We don't even "help" God make it happen. "God has no hands but ours" is pure theological claptrap. We are not responsible for bringing in God's kingdom; God is responsible for bringing in God's kingdom. Our job--the job of Christ-followers--is to announce the kingdom, to model the kingdom in our common life, and to ride the wave of what God is doing. 

But God does not in any way depend on us, much less need our "help." There is no number of resolutions we can pass, no amount of money we can budget, no number of programs we can initiate or organize, that will hasten the progress of the Kingdom of God one second. The good news is that neither is there anything we can do, or fail to do, that will retard that progress one second. 

Our job is probably also to get past ourselves and our own self-importance ... especially at places like General Convention.

In other news ... 

The first hour of the House of Bishop's legislative session this afternoon was devoted, as has been our custom, to private conversation. I can reveal what went on there today, because the House voted to make it public. I personally moved a mind-of-the-house resolution that affirms Bishops Ohl, Talton, Price, and Buchanan as the legitimate bishops of the Episcopal Church dioceses of Fort Worth, San Joaquin, Pittsburgh, and Quincy, respectively. This motion carried on a unanimous roll call vote. And it is in no way inconsistent with the amicus curiae brief that seven of us recently signed. My sense is that this has significantly lowered the thermostat in relations between the bishops. What effect it might have on the Title IV complaints remains to be seen. But I am hopeful.

Our legislative calendar was short. There's a small disconnect in synchronicity between the work of the committees and the work of legislation. It does seem that we could get through convention much more expeditiously if we eliminated the committees on Social & Urban Affairs and National & International Concerns, which constantly ask convention to make statements about things we don't actually have any influence over, and "call on" dioceses and parishes to do a bunch of things that the vast majority of them will never even hear about, let alone do. What will it take for us to get unstuck from the 1960s? Probably the death of a bunch of baby-boomers. I'm not volunteering.

The Third Legislative Day

Less committee time, more legislative time. That's the point we've reached in this convention.

Committee 13 heard testimony on B009, Authorize Use of the 1979 Lectionary. There was one "expert" witness who showed up to testify against it. He was given five minutes--more than double the usual allotment. All he did was put forward a rationale for the Revised Common Lectionary, but this seemed pointless, as B009 does nothing to challenge the official status of the RCL. As the author of the resolution, I was given equal time. I characterized it as an act of pastoral charity. We won't have an opportunity to debate it in committee until Monday.

We then spent the rest of our time discussing the details for tonight's hearing on A049--in effect, a rite for same-sex weddings.

The House of Bishops was a legislative machine. I made my stock speech once on the folly of passing resolutions that speak to public policy on matters about which Christians of good will and an informed conscience might legitimately disagree. I then proceeded to vote No several times--on issues ranging from statehood for the District of Columbia to advocacy for the Affordable Care Act. I was, of course, on the losing side each and every time. If I were in charge, we would dissolve the Committee on Social and Urban Affairs. IMO, they just clutter the docket with a secular political agenda.

• We defeated a resolution that would have restricted the votes of various categories of bishops who are not active diocesans when a matter involves the allocation of funds. I voted with the winners on this one.
• We rejected funding (if my notes are correct) for the General Board of Examining Chaplains, despite the fact that their existence is canonically mandated, effectively killing the General Ordination Exams.
• We agreed to a slow phase-in of the mandatory requirement that parishes and schools provide pensions plans for lay employees.
• We passed a resolution that affirms our continued full-communion with the ELCA, but calls for more focused attention to two issues on which our paths diverge: lay presidency at the Eucharist and the nature of diaconal ministry.
• We reaffirmed our commitment to the Millennium Development Goals
• Rather to the consternation of anybody in the room who is involved with theological education, we narrowly passed a resolution that tasks the Standing Committee on Ministry Development with some rather unwieldy and intrusive oversight work in connection with the seminaries and other formation programs.
• We had long debate, with several attempts to amend, of a resolution that seeks to increase the pressure on dioceses (like Springfield) that pay less than the full asking from the national church. Eventually, with a push from the Presiding Bishop, it got re-referred to committee for further work.
• We passed, on second reading, a constitutional amendment that will remove the House of Deputies from the consent process for bishops elected within 120 of General Convention, and send everything to the Standing Committees. This is now in the hands of the Deputies.

These are just some of the highlights. I'll mention one more: A059 passed. This is the one that amends the Prayer Book (thus requiring passage at two successive conventions) in order to fix the discrepancy between the lectionary for Ash Wednesday and Holy Week as printed in the back of the Prayer Book since 2006, and the readings set forth on the actual pages where those rites are found. There is much confusion about this, and I fear that many of my colleagues did not understand what we were doing. I'm certain that many on Committee 13 did not. Maybe somebody would like to carry this water in the House of Deputies.

At the beginning of our afternoon session, there was another hour of private discussion regarding the complaints from the Bishops of Fort Worth and Quincy stemming from the amicus brief that I and several other bishops signed. The rules of the house prevent me from saying anything more about that here, but I believe things are headed in a positive and helpful direction.

The Second Legislative Day

We're settling into a routine now: Early morning committee meetings for two hours, break for Eucharist, 90 minute legislative session, break for lunch, two hours back in committees, 30 minute "passing" break, two hours in legislative session. Some committees then have evening meetings. It's grueling, and this introvert of heading toward tilt.

Committee 13 heard testimony on proposed liturgical rites having to do with animals, honoring God in creation, and forms for daily prayer that would serve as a more accessible alternative to the Prayer Book offices. If I remember correctly at this late hour, I believe we proposed authorizing the animal and creation material for use, but leaving them in the custody of the SCLM for "perfection" before the 78th General Convention in 2015. We're still working on the Daily Prayer material, having gotten the impression that the SCLM doesn't really want it back. So we've farmed it out to sub-committees, thinking that we're probably going to have to wordsmith this one on our own at this convention.

The House of Bishops began to sink it's teeth into resolutions sent over by committees, and the teeth were sharp. I think we may have voted to reject more resolutions than we voted to adopt. This included a week in May to honor "older Americans," and funding for meetings of the SCLM. The general angst about re-structuring is driving this newly-found frugality, I believe. Stay tuned. This may yet get interesting.

We also consented to the consecration of eight new bishops-elect, who were then welcomed into the house have given seat and voice.

At the beginning of the afternoon legislative session, there was an hour in private session devoted to discussion of the tensions arising from the amicus curiae brief that I signed in April, along with several colleagues. Earlier in the day, the amici met to agree on the text of a letter explaining our collective position. (I don't have an electronic copy and am not yet aware of its existence on the internet, so I'm unable to provide a link.) Rules of the house prevent me from saying very much more about a private session, but I think it's safe to say that the matter is not yet resolved. I can also say that everything was done with courtesy and civility.

UPDATE: Here's a link to the response of the amici to the letter from Bishops Ohl and Buchanan.

The First Legislative Day

Toward the beginning of every General Convention, the initial focus of energy and time is in committee meetings. Every resolution has to be reviewed by a committee before it arrives at the "house of initial action." So there isn't much to do in the legislative sessions because the committees haven't had a chance to create very much work for them yet. As time goes on, the proportion shifts. Committee meetings are shorter and less frequent, and the legislative sessions begin to feel like marathons. Today is known in General Convention parlance as the "first legislative day." Both houses met, indulged in some formalities that make sense only because that's the way we've always done it, and are a manifestation of bygone eras in the church's life. And we began to actually act on some resolutions. Tomorrow sometime, we in the House of Bishops should actually begin to receive messages from the House of Deputies (and vice versa), and our action will be to "concur" (or not), thus formally enacting legislation (or not).

The committee on which I serve--Committee 13 on Prayer Book, Liturgy, and Worship--spent its time in two major areas. One combined the intent of two resolutions and call for the creation of a special Task Force to produce a study on the theology of marriage, and to include in that study guidelines for churches in states where same-sex (we actually changed it to "sex" from "gender") marriage and/or legal domestic partnerships are recognized. I spoke against this resolution, and voted against it. In the abstract, I would be enthusiastically in favor of producing a theological study of the sacrament of Christian marriage. But it is evident to me that the conclusion is all but foregone, and this is simply a vehicle by which the ultimate goal of those proposing the resolution can be delivered, which is recognition of marriage as a compact between any two consenting adults, regardless of sex (or gender, depending on how one understands it). I which we could just be honest about that rather than going through a charade.

The other issue was the sanctoral calendar. The current project in that area, Holy Women, Holy Men, is really a train wreck. I proposed a rather drastic substitute resolution that would have pressed the reset button and just allowed us all to take a collective deep breath and not do anything at this convention. My proposal elicited some interest and sympathy, but was defeated rather handily. Then somebody else proposed another substitute, which was eventually adopted, and this is what we are reporting out. It keeps HWHM in trial use, but reaffirms the already-enunciated criteria that have been effectively ignored in the compilation of the list of "saints," and removes the language about producing a final product available for "first reading" in 2015. This is certainly a better result than the original resolution. But unless the SCLM begins to "get it," I'm skeptical about the chance of meaningful change.

Piecemeal Prayer Book Revision

Maybe I'm paranoid. Or perhaps not.

In 2006, General Convention adopted the Revised Common Lectionary (slightly tweaked) as the official lectionary of the Episcopal Church for celebrations of the Holy Eucharist on Sundays and Holy Days. Apparently, the constitution specifies that, which the body of the Prayer Book is part of the constitution, and therefore takes two General Conventions to amend, the lectionary, while for the sake of convenience bound with the Prayer Book, is not actually part of it, and can therefore be amended by resolution at one convention. And that's what we did.

Except ... it seems to have escaped everyone's attention that the section of the BCP labeled Proper Liturgies for Special Days sets forth scripture readings for Ash Wednesday, Holy Week, and the Paschal Triduum. So Prayer Books printed since 2006 manifest an inherent conflict between the lectionary as printed in the back of the book (RCL) and the readings in Proper Liturgies for Special Days.

Oops.

So, along comes the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music with the solution: Resolution A-059, which proposes revising the Book of Common Prayer to fix this anomaly: swap out the RCL lections for the ones printed presently in the body of the book. This is presented without concealment as Prayer Book revision, which is a constitutional change, and therefore requires two readings at successive conventions.

This afternoon, Committee 13 (Prayer Book, Liturgy, and Church Music) considered A-059. Now, quite apart from my general lack of fondness for the RCL, which I have not hidden, I have a deep concern about the process being followed here. In the history of the Episcopal Church, the process for Prayer Book revision has been reserved for ... actual Prayer Book revision. And there have been only four, beginning with the original 1789 model. We have resisted the temptation to "fix" it bit by bit, piecemeal. 


Until now. Proponents of A-059 insist that this is a one-time deal, an inelegant but necessary patch to take care of an unforeseen development. Color me skeptical. The machinery of Prayer Book revision could well turn out to be an addictive drug for those with access to the controls. If this one works, it won't be too difficult shoot up one more time, and then once more, and in a handful of triennia, we could have a substantially different Prayer Book. The liturgy for Marriage would probably be the first to go, but it wouldn't be the last.


To my dismay, though not to my surprise, my efforts were to no avail, and A-059 was referred to the House of Bishops (customarily the "house of initial actions" for all matters liturgical). But there's more. Instead of being sent over merely with a "recommendation to adopt," it will arrive tomorrow morning in the HoB as part of something called the Consent Calendar, which is a time-saving device to dispatch resolutions that are thought to be non-controversial and will not elicit debate. This means it won't even get discussed. In order to remove the resolution from the consent calendar, I will need to find two other bishops to join me in asking for such, and then it would require a majority vote of the house. That would enable us to at least talk about it, but I'm not optimistic. 


If any Deputies are reading this who share my concerns, you also, by the rules of the HoD, have an opportunity to remove it from the Consent Calendar and give it a fair hearing. But you will need to be vigilant, and ready to pounce on the microphone stand just at the right moment. 

Speaking Truth in Love

I had hoped the news would not leak out as quickly as it did, mostly because I was away from home and not able to respond at any length as it was breaking. Now I'm home, with about 36 hours before leaving for Indianapolis and the 77th General Convention of the Episcopal Church. I am distressed that the convention, which was already going to be a tense time, will be complicated ever further by the fact that nine bishops--four retired, one soon to retire, one suffragan, and three active diocesans--were notified Friday and Saturday by the Title IV Intake Officer of the Episcopal Church, Bishop Clay Matthews, that we (I am, in fact, one of the nine) are potential respondents to a misconduct complaint. 

For two of these nine (Beckwith, Salmon), the foundation of the complaint is that they executed affidavits that were filed in civil litigation between the ACNA incarnation of the Diocese of Quincy and the Episcopal Church incarnation of the same. They contested the account given to the court by TEC lawyers that the Episcopal Church is a unitary hierarchical church at every level--i.e. that bishops and dioceses are in hierarchical authority over clergy and people, and that the Presiding Bishop and General Convention are in hierarchical authority over bishops and dioceses. Six others (Benitez, Howe, Lambert, Stanton, Love, and YFNB) are accused because we added our names to an amicus curiae brief that was filed in a similar legal proceeding between the two incarnations the Diocese of Fort Worth, contending here, as did the affidavits in the Quincy case, that the true polity of the Episcopal Church, when one carefully considers our history, theology, and the language of our constitution and canons, is one of a voluntary confederation of dioceses which accede to the constitutional and canonical authority of General Convention for purposes of church order and effective mission, but which retain a measure of autonomy as ecclesiastical integers, the historic fundamental unit of the church. Bishop Bruce McPherson, soon to retire as diocesan of Western Louisiana, enjoys the distinction of being named in both complaints.

I cannot presume to speak for any of the other eight, but I need to be clear that my intention in attaching my name to the amicus brief was in no way to affect the outcome of that case. As the Bishop of Springfield, which is in Illinois, it is no concern of mine how a property dispute in Texas is resolved. If my action has the effect of aiding one side or the other, that is, from my perspective, an immaterial consequence. Rather, I took the action I did with the best interests of the Episcopal Church and the Diocese of Springfield, as nearly as I can discern them, at heart. My principal concern was to not leave unchallenged the assertion that the Episcopal Church is a unitary hierarchical organism at all levels, and that the dioceses are entirely creatures of General Convention. I viewed signing the amicus brief as consistent with my vow to uphold the doctrine and discipline of the Episcopal Church. 

I certainly signed on reluctantly and reservedly. As a matter of general principle, I am opposed to litigating church disputes in secular courts. Lots of scripture passages are challenging to interpret, but I don't think I Corinthians 10 is one of them. "Why not rather be defrauded?", St Paul says. Moreover, I realize how my action could be construed as one bishop interfering in the affairs of a fellow bishop's diocese, which is a big No-No. So I had to make a judgment call, and my judgment, after reflection and prayer, was that I had to join the intervention, because to allow such a false read of TEC polity to potentially help form legal precedent constitutes a danger that could bring harm to the church for decades to come, and resisting this outcome trumps my other concerns.

As an illuminating case in point, I would draw your attention to a resolution we will be considering next week in Indianapolis, A101, Convene Consultation on Diocesan Effectiveness. This resolution asks for a study of “the potential for re-aligning dioceses to maximize their effective witness and ministry.” While this may be a relatively small thing in itself, and might actually make good sense, if the top-down (with General Convention as the “top”) hierarchical model is accepted, then it sets in motion a potential chain of events that could end with General Convention imposing redrawn boundaries on dioceses without their consent. At a time when the Episcopal Church is shrinking, especially in more sparsely populated areas of the country, this is not idle speculation. If the interpretation of our polity offered by the attorneys for the Episcopal Church in Quincy and Fort Worth is allowed to prevail, there is nothing at all that could prevent such a scenario. It's one thing if two or more dioceses decide they want to shuffle and re-deal the cards voluntarily. It's quite another for that to be imposed on them. It would not be anything that our forebears in this church would recognize.

I respect those who have a contrary understanding of our polity. While it is always possible that I could be mistaken—it has happened several times—I am at present confident in the correctness of the view I hold. I recognize that taking this discussion into the secular courts certainly escalates tension and raises the stakes, which is regrettable. My chief concern is that a very particular property dispute in Texas not become the vehicle for supporting an erroneous understanding of the polity of the church to which I am committed, the constitution and canons of which I have freely vowed to uphold, and to which my diocese freely accedes. 

Now for some important technicalities.

As of this date, all that has happened is that the nine of us have been informed that a complaint has been received, that the complaint is in connection (in my case) to our having signed the amicus brief in Texas, and that the matter is being looked into by the Intake Officer. It is Bishop Matthews' obligation to make a determination whether, if true, the complaint constitutes an offense under Title IV. So it could still be--a consummation devoutly to be wished--that he will dismiss the complaint for lack of merit. Or, if he determines that a misconduct may actually have been committed, he will send the matter to a body called the Reference Panel. This group functions sort of like a grand jury, and it will be their job to determine whether to "indict." If they do so, it then falls to the Conference Panel to hear testimony and issue a judgment. It is then up to the Presiding Bishop either to negotiate an accord with the respondents, or prescribe sentence. The penalty could range from a letter called a Pastoral Directive all the way to deposition (the latter would need to be approved by the House of Bishops). 

The Title IV canons protect the anonymity of an accuser. In an instance of something like sexual abuse, this perhaps make sense. In the current matter, it manifestly does not. It is difficult to imagine, however, that the complainants are not from the Diocese of Fort Worth. If this is the case, I quite understand their motivation. They feel wounded by what they perceived as an oppressive majoritarian regime under Bishop Iker, and bereft of much that has been near and dear to them as the institutional and most of the material infrastructure of the diocese was pulled out from under them. And as they seek redress of grievances in the secular courts, here come interlopers who are supposedly from their own church aiding and abetting the cause of their opponent. They are hurt and they are angry, and people who are hurt and angry often take ill-considered actions. I very much regret not personally phoning their provisional bishop, Wallis Ohl, at the time I signed the brief. I truly hate being blind-sided, and now I am guilty of doing it. I intend to apologize to him when I see him in Indianapolis.

My best guess is that this will all go away before it gets out of hand. For what it's worth, I tend to think it's exactly what it appears to be--some hurt and angry people in Forth Worth taking intemperate action. My heart truly goes out to them. But as I and others examine Title IV, even with its very broad categories of misconduct, it is virtually impossible to see how what we did is a canonical offense. I don't think there's a conspiracy here. I don't think the Presiding Bishop is involved. I honestly don't. I could be wrong, of course. Undoubtedly, this will come up in Indianapolis, at least in private conversations among the bishops. But there's plenty of other important stuff to do there for the sake of our church, and I am praying for the grace to not be distracted by this latest bump in the road. Of your charity, pray with me.

Toward General Convention IV: The Anglican Covenant

In 2006, as a Deputy from the Diocese of San Joaquin and a member of Special Legislative Committee 26 on Anglican Communion Relations, I participated in the crafting of a resolution, eventually adopted, that committed the Episcopal Church to taking part in the development of a covenant between the constituent churches of the worldwide Anglican Communion. The idea for such a document emanated from the report of a special commission convened by the Archbishop of Canterbury in response to the ecclesiastical disarray that followed on the consecration of Gene Robinson as Bishop of New Hampshire, Bishop Robinson being both openly gay and partnered.

In 2009, I submitted Resolution D020. In its original form, it committed TEC to abiding by the terms of the Covenant, which was then still in not-quite-final draft mode. By the time it emerged from committee, D020 was watered down to an intention to continue to study the Covenant. Now there are several resolutions on the Covenant in front of convention, ranging from "Yup!" to "Are you kidding? No!". I am one of the co-endorsers of the "Yup!" resolution. They will doubtless all be turned into sausage by the Committee on World Mission, and something will emerge that will be not quite "No!", but a long way from "Yup!". And even then, the convention may not approve it.

This will not be a close analysis of the reasons to adopt the Covenant. I think most minds have been made up, and there really isn't anything more that I can say that hasn't already been said more eloquently and cogently by others. The Living Church-sponsored blog--aptly named Covenant--has an astonishing compendium of heavyweight advocacy for the Covenant from around the communion. I commend it to you heartily. "What they say."

Nonetheless, at this late hour, without any aspirations to swaying anyone, I would feel remiss if I did not join my voice to the chorus one final time.

We need the Anglican Covenant because the world has shrunk,  and everything is now local.  That's it, in a nutshell. What Anglicans do or say in one place now affects Anglicans in every place, not months or years later, but the same day. This is now a permanent fact of life. So what this means is that the informal "bonds of affection" that have until recently sufficed in keeping Anglicanism a reasonably coherent whole now need to be strengthened, made more formal. Some (not all) of that which has heretofore been tacitly implied now needs to explicitly stated. The infrastructure of our mutual accountability needs to be made more robust. The centrifugal forces of cultural diversity have tilted the delicate autonomy-unity balance too far in the direction of autonomy. The Covenant is the vehicle that will bring our relationships back into balance.

Those who oppose the Covenant seem to have only one hermeneutical lens through which to view it: It's all about punishing the Episcopal Church (and the Anglican Church of Canada) for coloring outside the lines on sexuality. Yes, a sexuality-related event gave rise to the development of the Covenant. But that horse is already out of the barn; the Covenant isn't going to do anything to fix it. (And this is precisely why much of the conservative Global South is, at best, lukewarm toward the Covenant; they see it as toothless and incapable of repairing the damage that has been done already in the communion.) But the Covenant actually looks to the future, not to the past. There are already two issues on stage to which it could be brought to bear: communion before baptism, and lay presidency at the Eucharist. But there are doubtless others that we cannot yet even imagine.

Those who suggest that the Covenant is "not Anglican" are, at one level, absolutely right. It is not Anglican business-as-usual. Anglican business-as-usual is no longer a viable strategy as long as the internet is up and running, and as long as western society is careening into the post-Christian era. But it is certainly not anti-Anglican. It is a completely organic development of the Anglican charism, which is to say that it is profoundly biblical, profoundly sacramental, and profoundly ecumenical. I would go so far as to say that it points us toward Anglicanism finally come of age, Anglicanism grown up, stabilized.

Whatever we do with the Covenant at this convention, I don't think it's going away. Eight provinces have already adopted it. This means that it's already in effect in those places, and between those churches.  Only one has so far said No: Scotland. It is a false characterization of the Church of England's action to tally it in the No column just yet. While a slight majority of diocesan synods have said No (though, curiously, a majority of the total number of votes cast, and a large majority among the bishops, was in the affirmative), what this amounts to is nothing more than "Not just now." The Church of England has not said No; they've only decided to not say Yes during this incarnation of General Synod.

So, whatever word we speak next week, or the week after, will not be the final word on the matter. The winds of growth blow gently, but they blow relentlessly.

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.