More to Chew Over

So ... just a couple of days after proclaiming that the habitually troubled Anglican waters are lately ominously placid, we get a couple of real hot potatoes: the debate in the Church of England's General Synod on relations with the ACNA, and revelations from the Diocese of South Carolina on more legal skulduggery emanating from 815 Second Avenue.

As regards the latter, I'm going to reserve extensive comment at this time, not so much out of caution as out of recognition that Bishop Lawrence's letter does a masterful job nailing the crux of the matter. The bullseye quote is this:

[Thomas Tisdale] may be an attorney retained by the Chancellor for the Presiding Bishop, but it is hardly accurate in regards to the polity of this Church to claim to be an attorney of The Episcopal Church, as if the parishes, Standing Committee and Bishop of South Carolina are somehow something other than The Episcopal Church...

The polity of the Episcopal Church, demonstrably different from that of most other Anglican provinces, has been a much-vaunted notion over the last several years, generally in the context of TEC "progressives" lamenting that "they just don't understand our polity" when "they" make certain requests of the Presiding Bishop, or the House of Bishops, or the Executive Council, or whomever. What we see shaping up now, however, is a conflict in which the purveyors of this line of thinking are the ones themselves who do not understand our polity. To suggest that "the Episcopal Church" can be reified, separated somehow from its concrete local expression in parishes and dioceses, is ludicrous on its face.

The motion passed by the C of E's General Synod is kind of a mess, but it's a pretty interesting mess, all of which is to say that it's quintessentially Anglican, as fine a batch of fudge as has ever been confected! Here it is:

This Synod, aware of the distress caused by recent divisions within the Anglican churches of the United States of America and Canada, recognise and affirm the desire of those who have formed the Anglican Church in North America to remain within the Anglican family; acknowledge that this aspiration, in respect both of relations with the Church of England and membership of the Anglican Communion, raises issues which the relevant authorities of each need to explore further; and invite the Archbishops to report further to the Synod in 2011.

This is an amended version of a resolution that originally contained this language:

‘That this Synod express the desire that the Church of England be in communion with the Anglican Church in North America’

Let's look first to the starboard side of the Anglican barque, including those who are part of the Anglican Church in North America (ACNA). In this company, there are those who are utterly thrilled by the motion just as it carried (by a large majority). See examples of that attitude here and here. These folks see what happened as a giant leap in a trajectory that ends with the ACNA as a full constituent member in the worldwide Anglican Communion. Others, however, have a diametrically opposite assessment; see here for the most concisely articulate example. From this perspective, the amendment took all the teeth out of the original motion, reducing it to a gesture of politeness, a mere acknowledgement of an aspiration.

Eyes left now. Of course, no one on this side of the vessel can have anything positive to say about the phrase "Anglican Church in North America" even appearing in print on the legislative agenda of General Synod. So, watered down or not, they find it troubling--more troubling than they are generally willing to say publicly, I would suspect. Look here for a fine dose of liberal erudition, and here for an honest and generally charitable attempt at even-handedness by a prominent "progressive." Because the very subject is anathema to them, liberals are necessarily disposed toward spin over substance, as this headline exemplifies.

As far as I can tell, everybody is pretty much correct in what they're saying. So were each of proverbial blind men whose collective task was to describe an elephant. As long as we can be selective about a word here and phrase there, the Synod's action can mean whatever we want it to mean. Its eventual significance will be revealed in its interplay with subsequent events. It is now a "fact on the ground," another data point, another thread in the narrative. For example, if Mary Glasspool is eventually consecrated Bishop Suffragan of Los Angeles, or if the 2012 General Convention declines to adopt the Anglican Covenant (or, more tellingly, if the former occurs but the covenant is adopted), the significance of this week's action will loom large as Anglicanism collectively takes stock of its North American operations. On the other hand, if Canon Glasspool falls short in her consents (an unlikely eventuality, in my opinion), then the Lorna Ashworth motion will be yesterday's news.

As always, time will tell.

Rowan in the Dock

The news broke on Episcopal Cafe this past week that the Archbishop of Canterbury will be making a visit to Anaheim during General Convention this coming July. This is not in itself big news; all of Dr Williams' recent predecessors have done the same one or more times during their tenures. 

But the Anglican climate being what it is, the announcement has provoked what is at least a teapot-sized tempest in its venue-of-origin, as well as on the House of Bishops/Deputies listserv (HoBD), though, while I have not done an exhaustive search, apparently not elsewhere in the blogsphere. Those from the port side of the vessel who have ventured to opine are near-universally cynical about the prospect, with suggestions ranging from sending him across the street to Disneyland for a photo session with Goofy to granting him no more than a booth in the Exhibit Hall.

Leaving aside the obvious observation that Rowan really won't have to go to Disneyland to have his picture taken with Goofy--a group shot with either house of General Convention would serve that end--there are some recurring themes among his liberal critics (his conservative critics, who are legion, being largely silent on this one) that would seem to merit at least a small degree of attention.

It has been suggested that Rowan has never actually taken the trouble to listen to the voice of the Episcopal majority, while he has gone out of his way to be hospitable to American dissidents like Bishop Robert Duncan and Southern Cone Primate Gregory Venables. So, if the Archbishop comes to Anaheim, it should be as a listener rather than a talker. He needs to learn who we are as Episcopalians and how we do things in "this church," since, despite his prodigious academic accomplishments (the man can write a book faster than I can read one), he is under-educated in those areas. I find the combination of naivete and hubris in such suggestions mind-blowing. I have no doubt that Dr Williams understands the Constitution and Canons of TEC better than most members of the House of Deputies and that he is eminently up to speed on all the relevant dynamics of how controverted issues are dealt with on this side of the pond. To infer from his behavior that he is somehow not sufficiently "curious" about our church is to manifest myopia trending toward megalomania.

The perception of Rowan's cluelessness is to some degree fueled by an inordinate obsession with whether he has actually ever worshipped in a congregation of the Episcopal Church since taking offce. (He has had multiple opportunities to do so, having recently spent a sabbatical in Washington, D.C.) No one actually spells out precisely why this is important, but the implication seems to be that he is intentionally avoiding contamination by post-Robinson Episcopalian cooties. Could this perhaps be to maintain his street cred among the Nigerians and other assorted Africans and North American Anglicans who are beholden to them? If so, it is an astonishingly unsuccessful strategy on his part. Just scan the comments on any number of Stand Firm posts for a quick read on this Archbishop's standing in that community.

Rowan is also taken to task for having thrown Jeffrey John under the bus way back when. Dr John, currently dean of St Alban's, was named to the (suffragan) See of Reading in 2003. He was known then, and still is, to be in a partnered gay relationship. At the time, he offered assurances that the relationship was no longer sexual in nature--making him, some contend, a virtual "poster boy" for the sort of gay cleric that even a conservative could accept in high ecclesiastical office. Yet, in the midst of loud and constant pressure from the Evangelical party of the C of E, the Archbishop entreated Dr John to step back from the appointment, which he then did. Dr Williams was wise in making the request, and Dr John was wise in acceding to it. In a visible and highly-charged political environment, it is indeed not enough to simply be doing the right thing. One must be seen doing the right thing. In an ideal world, whatever goes on between Dr John and his partner would be nobody's business but their own. Alas, this is not an ideal world, and as their domestic arrangements have the appearance of impropriety, Dr John is not an appropriate candidate for the episcopate. Rowan did not throw him under the bus. Rowan enabled the Anglican Communion to live to see another day. That is a noble end, and that the means to that end were awkward and unpleasant does not make them morally illicit.

I am glad that the Archbishop will be in Anaheim. By virtue of his office, he will personally encapsulate for us the rest of the Anglican Communion. If, as it seems plausible to expect, we continue our slow but steady journey away from the mainstream of Anglicanism and toward sectarian isolation, we will have to do so while we look Rowan--and, through him, the rest of the communion--in the eye. It will be good for our character.

Advent

One of the small joys of my vocation is that I get to spend Saturdays puttering around the church more or less alone. No other staff are around (well, the organist pops in and out, but she and I are friends); phone calls and walk-ins are rare. I find it an ambience that lends itself to contemplation as I go about my getting-ready-for-Sunday chores, and some pretty good praying sometimes happens in such an environment. 

Today was even more special than usual because I got to tweak the details of what my inimitable Facilities Manager and my wonderful Altar Guild had already accomplished in giving the church an Advent makeover: simple greens where the flowers usually are, wrought-iron candlesticks that are used only during Advent and Lent, no frontals on the altar, and, of course, an 

ample Advent Wreath that sits on a stand to the left of the aumbry. And this year a little something extra: I had a beautiful large icon of our patron saint moved from the narthex into the nave (with a proper lamp hung next to it) where it can serve as a focus of piety rather than something we walk past without noticing. 

I love Advent. And I mean Advent-as-it-is-in-itself, not merely a pious-sounding new label for "the holidays." I love the distinctive rhythym of the season--beginning with the Great Litany (I particularly enjoy chanting "beat down Satan under our feet" with some measure of solemn gusto) before rehearsing the Dies Irae-like pangs of eschatological darkness and exhortations to vigilance, moving on to the imprecations of John the Baptist tempered by the messianic reveries of Isaiah, then on to the Annuncation and Our Lady's fiat mihi, with the Great O Antiphons and Lessons & Carols helping to pick up the pace toward a denoument of incarnational joy in the Midnight Mass of Christmas Eve.

But I also appreciate Advent for being--of all the liturgical seasons--the most like real life. Advent is about always straining forward in unfulfilled yearning. It's about the paradox of "now but not yet." It's about waiting and hoping and getting ready for the Big Day when the Event for which the Chicago Cubs winning a World Series is the most apposite metaphor finally arrives. Most of us spend most of our lives yearning for something, hoping for something, waiting for something. It can be something as trivial as a traffic signal changing from red to green and as complicated as an intimate relationship that sometimes runs and sometimes crawls and frequently stumbles but always shows promise of (someday) settling into a nice comfortable gait.

I write, of course, as an Anglican Christian, and as an American, and both of these states of life (or, more accurately, the combination thereof) lie within the shadow cast by the season of Advent. We wait (for every word that proceeds from Lambeth Palace). We hope (for a positive outcome from the next of meeting of ... you name it: the Primates, the House of Bishops, the Joint Standing Committee, the Anglican Consultative Council, the Covenant Design Group, CAPA, the Global South Primates, the leaders of GAFCON, the Common Cause Partners, the Communion Partners, etc. etc.). We prepare (for the next secession of a diocese, for the next deposition of a bishop, for the unveiling of a new province). We ask, "How long?" We wonder whether we have enough oil in our lamps. And then we wait some more and hope some more and prepare some more.

Will Christmas ever get here?

At the level of cyclical chronos, of course, Christmas never fails to "get here." (Alas, for the retail industry, there are only 29 shopping days between Thanksgiving and Christmas this year, compared to 32 last year; yes, there are people who keep track of such details.) And that inviolable certainty, compounded in its effect the more times one actually experiences it, serves as a sign of hope and encouragement for anyone (i.e. pretty much everyone) who struggles with a cycle of yearning-turning-toward- fulfillment that is larger and longer than 365 days, including Anglicans like this unworthy blogger who are tempted on a daily basis to abandon hope for a happy issue out of our afflictions. (To say nothing of this unworthy Cubs fan.)

Veni, veni Emmanuel! Captivum solve Israel.

Rorate coeli desuper et nubes pluant justum.

Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus.

Rebellion or Revolution?

Blessedly, the secular political arena has calmed down a bit after last Tuesday's election. The run-up to (and the run-down from?) election day certainly hijacked my attention, but, for a number of reasons, I choose not to blog about such things. Certainly there is not such a dearth of wannabe pundits in the blogsphere that the lack my voice creates a significant impoverishment.

Church politics, on the other hand, I presume to know something about, and can at least plausibly pretend to hope to have some influence over, so I labor on in the wake of the "breaking" news that Quincy has now become the third diocese of the Episcopal Church to announce its secession therefrom, and its assocation with the Province of the Southern Cone. Fort Worth is cued up and counting down to become the fourth. (Are there others? Some speculate that there might be a couple more, but nobody else has yet "cocked the gun" with a first reading of the necessary constitutional amendment.)

History, as they say, is written by the winners. The political uprisings that took place in America (1776), France (1789), Russia (1917), and Iran (1979)--just to name a few--are now styled revolutions only because they were successful. Had they failed, we would remember them (if they were remembered at all) as mere rebellions. For that matter, if Cardinal Cajetan had successfully persuaded Luther to recant at Worms, what is now known as the Reformation might similarly be a blip on the radar screen of history.

Five years ago, General Convention threw a match onto a gasoline-soaked garage floor, instigating a chain of events of which the secession of Quincy is now the latest link. At the very least, we are witnessing a series of rebellions that might plausibly be interpreted as one Big Rebellion in several parts. The hope of dioceses like Quincy (along with San Joaquin, Pittsburgh, and Fort Worth) is that they are part of a larger movement of realignment within Anglicanism, the end of which will result in a new Anglican province on North American soil, one that will be institutionally unconnected from both the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Church of Canada. Several other Anglican provinces are cooperating with this movement: the Southern Cone, obviously, by providing a temporary insitutional haven, but also all the groups that fall under the umbrella known as GAFCON (from their initial gathering in Jerusalem this past summer, the Global Anglican Futures Conference). This big tent includes the Anglican Mission in American (AMiA, connected to Rwanda), the Convocation of Anglicans in North American (CANA, connected to Nigeria), and a smattering of parishes that have come under the aegis of Uganda. 

So far, then, what we have is a rebellion in progress. But the hope of what we might call the realignment community is that it will continue to grow--both by continuing to peel off dioceses and parishes from TEC (and its Canadian equivalent) and by growing their parishes, both in size and number--and that TEC will continue to decline (by ongoing loss of dioceses and parishes and by stagnation in spiritual and financial vitality) to an envisaged tipping point, at which it will simply be a fait accomplait, with or without any official pronouncement from Canterbury or elsewhere, that TEC has been replaced as the holder of the Anglican franchise in this country. 

If and when that tipping point is reached, we'll no longer be talking about a rebellion. It will be a revolution, because the new "winners" will be in a position to call it such.

Now, I hope I am amply on record that this is not a turn of events for which I hope or advocate, for reasons that are both principled and pragmatic. My principled objections are largely ecclesiological--see here. My pragmatic objections are largely strategic; I don't think the plan will work, I don't think the tipping point will be reached. I, and many others, remain committed to the broad outline known as the Windsor Process, which includes the development of an Anglican Covenant--an organic realignment, if you will. Evolution, not revolution.

That said, I never cease to be amazed by the capacity of the leadership of the Episcopal Church to shoot themselves in the foot. The Presiding Bishop's response to the vote in Quincy was to lament that "some individuals in southern Illinois" had decided to leave TEC. To say nothing of the geographical gaffe (one might forgive a westerner for not realizing that the Diocese of Quincy encompasses west central Illinois, not southern), her statement is one more iteration of a vacuous mantra, that it is individuals and not institutional structures that are are fleeing "this church." One invariable characteristic of a regime that is vulnerable to being overturned in a revolution is implacable denial, incessant repetition of an interpretive paradigm that bears less and less resemblance to reality. ("Let them eat cake.")

If the regnant leadership in TEC--my church, that is--wishes to quell the fury of the latter-day Parisian mob, it would do well to begin recognizing the fact that parishes and dioceses do leave the church. Whether or not they can is moot. The Alice in Wonderland word games need to stop immediately. Then they need to seriously engage the reality that the developing Anglican Covenant is an emergency response to their own misbehavior, not some theoretical construct worthy of a decade or two of polite abstract discussion. The Presiding Bishop's announced intention of keeping a vote on a covenant off the agenda in Anaheim next July is precisely the wrong message.

With some commitment and intention, the rebellion can be kept at bay. Without any changes in the current trajectory of leadership behavior, the realignment community's goals will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I can hear the gates of the Winter Palace beginning to collapse already.