Terra Sancta Travelogue, II

First, a catch-up note: I forget to mention in my last entry that we also visited the village of Cana, site of Our Lord's first miracle (in John's schema), changing water into wine at a wedding feast. We made this stop between Nazareth and the fishing boat museum. There was, of course, a shrine church there, and several shops hawking "wedding wine," whatever that may be.

Wake-up call on Thursday (the 21st) was the earliest of the trip--we needed to be on the bus by 7:30--packed, fed, and checked out. From the peace of Ginosar-by-the-Sea our bus took us around the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee and across the Jordan River, which both feeds and drains the lake. (Aside to any readers in the San Joaquin Valley: The Jordan is certainly not a very impressive stream, despite its symbolic significance. It is quite comparable to the Calaveras.) Very soon, we are climbing (the Sea of Galilee is below sea level, and our immediate destination is 2500 feet above sea level) into the region known as the Golan Heights, which, before the 1967 war, was part of Syria; Israel has since formally annexed it. The book of Acts never tells us precisely where on the "Damascus Road" St Paul had his life-changing (world-changing, actually) encounter with the risen Christ, but, in any case, we are on that road. 

By 9:30 we will be overlooking Syria, some 40 miles or so from its capital, within sight of the U.N. border checkpoint. But first, Yossi tells us, he

 has a surprise for us. When they were excavating for the present road, they discovered several ancient tombs hewn out of the hillside. These were actually "suites" of a sort--with an entryway, a common area, and several niches radiating therefrom. Common practice in the ancient semitic world was to recycle tombs. Bodies would be wrapped in a linen shroud and placed in a niche long enough for the flesh to decompose. When only the skeleton remained, the bones would be placed, more compactly, in a stone or ceramic container known as an ossuary, thus liberating the tomb niche for another occupant. When we reached one of these sites, the bus pulled over and we were able to get off (carefully, since we were near a blind curve in the road) and inspect the arrangement for ourselves. We were, of course, at least 100 miles from Jerusalem, where Jesus died and was (temporarily) buried. But what we were looking at dated from the same era, and looked very much like Joseph of Arimathea's "own new tomb which had never been used" would have looked ... complete with a rolling stone to seal the entrance!

On our way to the Syrian border we pass by several small

military installations, both active Israeli bases and defunct Syrian ones. Soon we are in the shadow of Mount Hermon, definitely not "skip[ping] like a young wild ox" per the Psalmist, and, moreover, shorn of the mantle of snow it usually wears at this time of year, which is a source of no small anxiety, as the snows of Mount Hermon feed the Jordan, and the Jordan feeds the Sea of Galilee, and the Sea of Galilee supplies all of Israel with fresh water. The concern with the depth of the snowpack reminded me eerily of the years I lived in central California. As we exit the bus at an observation point, the air is much brisker than it was in the valley. Before us lies Syria; we can see at least two distinct towns. Behind us is a bluff housing an Israeli military post, with a raft of sensitive surveillance equipment. One of our number somewhat naively turns to take a picture in that direction and is startled to hear our bus driver honking his horn. Apparently the soldiers who staff the outpost are a tad humorless and not shy about descending suddenly in a jeep and confiscating the cameras of curious tourists. 

Our route continues in borderland, first with 

Syria, then with Lebanon. The landscape is green and arboreal (the famous Cedars of Lebanon), with Druze villages and ruins of

Crusader fortresses darting in and out of our view as we traverse the windy mountain road. A ski resort in the distance is quiet because the terrain is quite devoid of snow. The next stop is Caesarea Philippi, still in the territory of the Golan, but not so much in the "heights" anymore. This is a major archeological site that once houses a temple to the Greek god Pan. It was here, of course, that Jesus put the question to his disciples, "Who do you say that I am?" and Simon Peter gets the answer right. One can picture this exchange taking place at the site of the pagan temple, with Jesus turning his back to it and facing south toward Jerusalem even as he began to clue his followers in on what would take place there.

Here, as in many other places on our route, the 13 of us find ourselves dodging a group of about 700 Nigerian pilgrims, who pretty much get to go wherever they want to go, because there are so many of them and so few of us. 

From Casarea Philippi we back down to the north shore of the Sea of Galilee and visit three more holy spots: the Mount of the Beatitudes, the site of the miracle of the Feeding of the 5000 (Taghba), and the village of Capernaum, Jesus' adopted home town. They are all in close proximity to one another, though not walking distance for pilgrims in a hurry. The Mount of the Beatitudes, centered on a shrine church with a panoramic view of both the hillside and the lake below, is crowded with tour groups. As we approach the entrance to the area from where our bus is parked, a wind suddenly blows from the west, whipping up the waves on the lake. It is, right there, easy to see how Jesus' disciples could have set out in a boat into calm water, only to find themselves in peril, struggling to maintain control of their craft only a few minutes later. The shrine 

Taghba is, in my opinion, particularly beautiful. In front of the altar, some of the mosaic floor from the orignal 4th century church are preserved--an image of loaves and fishes that I have seen replicated many times, only now I was looking at the original. Capernaum certainly does include a shrine church--on the site of Simon Peter's house--but it is friendlier to the "pious historical tourist," since it was largely abandoned late in the firstr century, eclipsed by the nearby city of Tiberias. Some of the ruins have been re-assembled, giving an impression of the community's ambience at the time of Christ. The ruins of the synagogue are particularly impressive, and while the structure dates from an era several decades later than the New Testament, I found myself wondering whether it may be on the same site as the one that figures so prominently in Jesus' early ministry.

By this time it was after 1 PM, and we were hungry, though we had been warned that lunch would be late. Not to worry, though--our next destination was on the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee, across from where we had spent the night, via the "territory of the Gadarenes" (aka Gerasenes), the keepers of swine into whom Jesus allowed a legion of demons to enter after casting them out of the man they were occupying. We pull up to a large dining facility that caters exclusively to busload after busload after busload of tourists. (Yep, the Nigerians are still with us.) Lunch consists of broiled tilapia--tilapia being the signature edible species of this body of water, both in ancient times and now. Preparing our meal was not exactly a labor-intensive endeavor, as the only thing they did before cooking the fish was to gut them: Head, tail, skin, and bones are all on the plate along with the edible part. It's just a matter of digging in.

After our repast we climbed down into a boat--rather larger and more high-powered than the ones used by Jesus and his friends--for a brief excursion out into the lake. It's a beautiful clear day, with air temperature in the mid-70s farenheit. We can see both ends and both sides of the lake. The significance of it all is getting too much to even process.

Back in the bus, and back to the Jordan River, only this time to a spot south of the lake, where it begins it long windy path down to the Dead Sea, nearly 100 miles to the south as the vulture flies. We stop at the most kitschy tourist trap of the whole trip, a spot where the west bank (speaking literally, not poltically) of the river has been dug out and paved, making it convenient for visitors to get into the water and do something related to baptism, whether its actually getting baptized, baptizing somebody else, or

just getting wet in such a way that enables some sort of reconnection with one's baptism. They even have changing areas and white smocks available to facilitate the encounter (not to mention a large gift shop). I got my hands wet, just to be able to say I'd done so, but was not moved to do anything more demonstrative than that. I just didn't have a good feeling about the place, probably related to the fact that it was nowhere near the actual spot where John the Baptist did his thing, which was way south in the Judean desert, near the Dead Sea. Of course, that actual area is in poltically sensitive territory these days, hence this more convenient (and bucolic, what with all the trees lining the banks) northern alternative. But hey, if there'd been a shrine church there, 

I'd have probably been all over it!

Mercifully, tourist attractions in Israel all shut down around 4:30 PM, so our day is done. I'm tired just remembering it. We could easily have gone back to the same kibbutz-run hotel, but in the interest of exposing us to various alternatives for when we lead our own tours, our tour company has booked us into a different place, this one in the city of Tiberias, once again on the western shore, just a little south of our previous Ginosar location. 

Tiberias seems to have something resembling a "night life," and it's fun to walk up and down the main drag, and along the seaside promenade, in the couple of hours of free time before dinner. Now it's a Jewish Israeli community, though it was not so in antiquity, and it was a particularly popular hangout for the Crusaders for the couple of centuries during which they were on the scene, leaving behind buildings and walls the remains of which are simply integrated into the contemporary city in a mostly non-pretentious way.

Terra Sancta Travelogue, I

The Holy Land (Latin: Terra Sancta) has always been on my "definitely someday" list of travel destinations. So when I was approached last November about joining a couple of colleagues from my diocese on a "familiarization tour," the timing seemed right to say Yes. The trip was organization by a tour company based in Columbus, OH that is owned by Israelis and Israeli ex-pats. The twelve participants (including me and my two Northern Indiana colleagues) were all Christian ministers of one stripe or another. (More about the various "stripes" later.)

We gathered in the El Al check-in area at JFK in New York on the evening of 19 January (a Monday), and were joined by Sara, an Israeli-American who is one of the owners of Jerusalem Tours. El Al, the Israeli national airline, is renowned for its security screening procedures. Every passenger is interviewed by agents trained in behavior profiling. (After 9/11, they were the primary "trainers" for the TSA.) As we milled around the rope line, one of our number apparently didn't fit the profile of "pastor." He's a thirty-something Associate Pastor of an Assemblies of God congregation in Texas. His dress and grooming are typical of a member of his generation who is travelling, which on this cold New York day, featured a knit stocking cap. I admit, he did look a tad menacing. Anyway, they pulled him out of the line pronto and quizzed him for what seemed forever. We all breathed a sigh of relief when he came back with a validated passport. My own interrogation was brief, but it made me nervous nonetheless.

Our departure was scheduled for midnight, but while we boarded the 747 on time, it was a least 90 minutes between boarding and wheels up because of the need for de-icing. We heard later that ours was the last plane out of JFK that night; the weather was on the nasty side. Being a veteran of overseas travel in four of the last five years, I knew to ask my doctor for a prescription sleep aid, a technique I now swear by enthusiastically. I popped the little magic pill somewhere over the Candadian maritimes and came to somewhere over the Austrian Alps. It's the only way to fly.

Traveling eastbound as we were, of course, we passed the sun on our respective opposite courses and chased down the advancing darkness. As we began our descent into Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion airport, the sun was already beginning to set over the Mediterranean. By the time we actually landed, at around 5 PM local time (which was 10 AM EST) it was already dark. Even while en route we began to get the feel of our destination, as several Orthodox Jews stood at various times to recite their obligatory prayers (the equivalent of our Anglican Daily Office).

Probably because of our Hebrew-speaking Israeli-born leader, passport control and customs went very smoothly. Everyone's bags arrived, which is always an occasion for thanksgiving, and we were shepherded through the quite beautiful airport to the 50-passenger capacity tour bus that would be our daylight-hours home for the next week. There we met Yossi, the guide whom we would come to regard with great affection. Yossi is 60ish, Israeli-born, the son of Polish holocaust survivors, a veteran of the 1967 war in which he helped Israel take possession of the 

Golan Heights, holding a university degree in archeology, and a veritable walking encyclopedia on all things Israeli, both ancient and modern. Though Jewish, he is thoroughly versed in those parts of the New Testament that would be of interest to Christian tourists, and in the Christan theological significance of the places we would visit.

It was about a half hour drive, via a six-lane freeway that appeared to meet every standard for a U.S. interstate highway (including the familiar white on green directional signs, the contents of which generally appear in three languages: Hebrew, 

English, and Arabic), from the airport to the Dan Panorama Hotel just south a downtown Tel Aviv, right across the street from the beach. We check in to our rooms (definitely the Five Star caliber they were touted to be) and them reassemble in the dining room. Dinner is buffet style (the norm for our entire trip), and there is a great deal to choose from. After dinner I bought 30 minutes of internet time (on a computer in the hotel lobby) for about $7USD. I was able to update my Facebook status, but not get into either gmail or Blogger because they came up in Hebrew and I couldn't decipher the error messages!

Wake-up call Wednesday morning was at 6:30 AM. We had to have our luggage outside the door of our room by 7:00 and then head down to breakfast. The morning buffet was quite sumptuous, though lacking in anything resembling pork sausage! We were on the bus by 8:00 AM. Yossi invited one of us to lead the group in prayer, after which he broke out into (what I call the "happy clappy" version of) "This is the day...", which became a daily norm. 

Our route puts us back on the freeway heading north out of the city along the coastline, tracing the route that St Peter traversed from Joppa (the ancient city that is now effectively south Tel Aviv) to Ceasarea in response

 to the entreaty of the centurion Cornelius. I am amazed at how much the territory reminds me of southern and central California--beautiful sunny 

January weather, similar vegetation (lots of eucalyptus and date palms), similar ocean view. Yossi informs us that Israel occuplies a land mass equal to that of New Jersey, though I'm aware that about half of this area makes up the Negev Desert and is very sparsely populated, thus putting some 7 million people (roughly 5 million Jews and 2 million Arabs) into an area the size of half of New Jersey. 

In less than an hour's time we arrive in Ceasarea. This was a coastal city build by the Roman Governor-King Herod the Great the honor Caesar 

Augustus. It was the seat of Roman governors, including Pontius Pilate, who journeyed from there to Jerusalem at least annual to be present for the celebration of Passover. It was in Caesarea that St Paul was held for over two years after his arrest in Jerusalem and before he was sent to Rome for trial before the Emperor. There are still substantial ruins of the grandeur that Herod built there, and it remains an active archeological site.

Back on the bus in relatively short order, we drive past Israel's only golf course and turn inland, heading for Mount Carmel, site of Elijah's epic encounter with the prophets of Baal in the 9th century B.C. in the 9th century B.C. (a narrative I was particularly fond of in my Sunday School days and which I have appreciated in adulthood as the basis for Mendelssohn's oratorio Elijah). There's a shrine church at the peak that is operated by Roman Catholic Discalced Carmelite monks, which leads me to recall that there is a devotion (and 

feast day) to Our Lady of Mt Carmel. 

EXCURSUS on Holy Places, Shrines, and Pilgrimage vs. Touring: I probably knew at a cognitive level before my trip that none of the places a Christian would be interested in visiting would be in pristine condition, looking essentially like it did when Jesus walked the earth. Nonetheless, I was brought up short by the experience of finding a shrine church at every such place. Almost invariably the ones that are open to visitors are under the control of Roman Catholics, even though the Holy Land is outside the natural geographical ambit of the Western Rite. For some reason, the Orthodox and Eastern Rite Catholic shrines, when there are any, are not as hospitable. Seeing reality thus as it is put me in mind of what seems an apposite distinction between the expectations of a pilgrim, strictly speaking, and those of what one might call a "pious historical tourist." The latter is interested in replicating, insofar as is possible, the sensory experience of those who were present on those sites in biblical times. In their ideal world, the Holy Land would be a sort of theme park that is as close as possible to being "historically accurate" ... but with convenient and clean restrooms. Shrines and churches, while possibly beautiful in themselves, are largely an annoying distraction from such an end. A pilgrim, by contrast, yearns to connect in a more mystical dimension with the spiritual reality represented by those places. Shrines and churches are therefore a welcome medium toward such an end. Based on my own limited experience on this trip, unless one has a 

consuming interest in archeology, a visit to the Holy Land is most satisfyingly approached with the mindset of a pilgrim.

Looking eastward from the top of Mount Carmel one is treated to a spectacular view of the Jezreel Valley ... aka the Valley of Megiddo ... aka (via the structure of Hebrew grammar) Armageddon. The kings of Israel and Judah fought there. Napoleon fought there. According to currently popular interpretation of some biblical texts, there will yet be at least one more decisive battle in that valley. If you look at a map of ancient trade routes you can see how strategic its location is. Today it's the breadbasket of Israel, rich with diverse agriculture. And it was impossible not to notice in the distance runways marking an Israeli air force base, from which, presumably, missions had recently been launched against targets in Gaza. 

On the other side of the valley, Yossi pointed out the hill on which sits thecity (certainly no longer a village) of Nazareth (on our itinerary yet the same day), and turning the eye south from there, Mount Tabor (sadly, not on our itinerary at all), the traditional site of Our Lord's Transgifuration. On our way down the mountain we stop for lunch in a Druze village--falafel in pita bread, or, for the less adventurous, deep-fried chicken breast. It was in that location that I sampled the hottest peppers I have ever tasted.

We then headed through the valley we had just seen from above and thenup another hill to Nazareth. The site of ancient town is now a 100% Arab city, though there is a Jewish community (founded since 1948) of the same name nearby. Yossi tells us that the population is now about 35% Christian (divided between Greek Orthodox, Assyrian Orthodox, and Latin Rite Roman Catholic) and 65% Muslim, tough, until relatively recently, the Muslim-Christian distribution was more even; this reflects a steady attrition of the Christian population across the Middle East. For the first time on our trip, we experience a distinct "third world" ambience. Our only stop in Nazareth (and it involved some walking, since the narrow streets didn't accomodate our tour bus) was the Church of the Annunciation, built as a shrine on the traditional site of the angel's appearance to Our Lady. The current structure is relatively new, and is gorgeous. Yossi described the Christian theological significance of the carvings on the doors with a fluency that belied his Jewish identity. Inside is the ancient grotto marking "the spot." Sadly, for us, there was a Mass being celebrated--in what language I know not, though I could certainly tell where they were in the liturgy and wanted to sing along with the Psalm refrain--which prevented us from visitng the grotto close up. My pilgrim soul felt deprived; I could have lingered there happily another hour or so--long enough to slowly pray the Angelus, at least--but it was not to be. 

Back on the bus again (now becoming an all-too-familiar move) to travel the same route Jesus walked between him home town and the Sea of Galilee, the venue for most of his public ministry. I was forced immediately to forever alter my mental map of the area. Being raised an Illinois flatlander, I had always pictured a nice level plain all over Galilee. Not so. There is some serious up and down movement for anyone living in the territory--easy enough for a diesel bus, more challenging on foot. It was a breathtaking moment laying eyes on that legendary body of water for the first time. The terrain was much greener than I would have imagined. (Of course, Israel is an aggresive tree-planting society; it's the only country in the world with more trees at the end of the twentieth century than at the beginning.) I'm also struck by the abundance and ubiquity of stones scattered across the landscape. Buildings and fences are all made of stone, and it's not hard to see why. It gives new meaning for me to Jesus' comment that if no one else praised him, the very stones would sing. And it's also not difficult to see why the normative method of capital punishment there in ancient times was ... stoning. 

As we drawn near to the water's edge, near the village of Ginosar (nee Genessaret in the New Testament) we pull into the the parking lot of a museum dedicated entirely to one archeological discovery that was made in that place only a few years ago--the relatively intact remains of a fishing boat from the time of Christ. Presumably, it is substantally the same sort of vessel that Simon and Andrew and the Zebedee brothers would have used to ply their trade, and which Jesus used as a preaching platform. Conveniently, adjacent to the museum is our hotel for the night, which is operated by a nearby kibbutz. The ambience is distinctly rural and peaceful, in contrast to our accomodations in Tel Aviv. 

After getting settled in my room, with time before our buffet dinner, I stroll through some lovely gardens out into the lake on a pier. Waves are gently lapping the shore. The air is pleasantly warm (probably mid-60s farenheit), unseen packs of canines of some variety (dogs? coyotes?) trade long howls with one another. It is surpassingly beautiful, almost transcendant. I turn and look westward, away from the lake, toward the mountain pass Jesus used to travel to the sea from Nazareth, and realize that, with all that has changed in two milennia, that particular view has not, and that he doubtless watched the same sun set over that same hill many times, perhaps not more than a few feet from where I was standing.

This is obviously more than I can do in one day. More to follow in due course!

Shalom

After a war in the area, and a family member's health crisis more recently, threatened to scuttle this trip, I am indeed about to walk out the door and spend the next 27 hours en route to a Tel Aviv hotel room. From there, a week of guided touring with about a dozen other Christian pastors. We'll be doing the usual stuff: Mediterranean coast, Galilee (and the sea thereof), Masada, the Jordan River and Dead Sea, Bethlehem (we've been told) and Jersusalem. 

I'm not bringing my laptop and while internet access at hotels is available, it's a little spendy. I may post something from time to time while I'm there, but I expect to bore all of you with an extended illustrated travelogue when I get back.

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

B033 Followup

Another snippet of my participation in the ongoing HoB/D discussion on the repeal of B033. Among those who post there, the sentiment is overwhelmingly in favor of either replealing it or eclipsing it with another (contradictory) resolution or canonical action. I am dubious that these posters represent as statistical "mind of the house."

At any rate:

I find myself flummoxed by assertions that B033 was a "failure." That depends, I suppose, on what one considers its purpose to have been. As I understand it, the purpose was to get our bishops to Lambeth and to keep our Presiding Bishop at the Primates' Meeting. Well, our bishops (minus one) were at Lambeth, and, as far as I know, Katharine is planning on being in Egypt next month. Sounds pretty much like a success to me. That some (most who are vocal on this list, at any rate) consider B033 too high a price to pay for such success I totally get. But it is manifestly not a failure if it is evaluated in terms of what it was designed to accomplish.

I find myself equally flummoxed by assertions that "a lot has changed" or that "society has moved on" since 2006, thus consigning B033, or anything like it, to the ash heap of history. As another poster has observed, the success of Proposition 8 in California, along with other similar measures in other states, gives the lie to such an assertion. But even if the assertion were true, it would still be at best marginally relevant to B033, since B033's "audience" is not TEC, or American society, but the rest of the Anglican Communion in general, and the Four Instruments in particular. I suspect many in TEC have been lulled into the notion that the "Windsor Process" has ground to a halt because it hasn't been making news of late. This is a serious mistake, IMO. It's taking a long time to work itself out (thus having long alienated conservatives of a GAFCON disposition), but it is working itself out with a higher level of inexorability than many realize. Any movement to distance ourselves from B033 will only hasting and intensify the day of reckoning in which we will be forced to choose between the vision of (what the majority party calls) "full inclusion" and the vision of a worldwide Anglican Communion. 

B033

With General Convention looming now less that seven months away, the HoB/D listserv is beginning to heat up over potential specific resolutions. One of these--not yet crafted and submitted to my knowledge--will be to repeal Resolution B033 from 2006--the one that, by some accounts, effects a moratorium on the consecration of more partnered gay bishops. I share below my own most recent contribution to the conversation.

No surprise here, but I'm going to weigh against anything that even smells like repealing B033.  Not that I was particularly crazy about it at the time; I didn't think it was strong enough, and was dismayed that it did not address the question of the blessing of same-sex unions.

Of course, I realize that mine is a minority viewpoint, and there is nothing to be gained by arguing my point, as it were, "on the merits." It seems expedient, however, to remind the members of this list, particularly those who are new deputies at this year's convention, of the context in which B033 was moved and carried.

The issue on the floor was the Episcopal Church's formal response to certain requests contained in the document known as the Windsor Report, produced by the international commission appointed by the Archbishop of Canterbury in response to what were widely perceived as the provocative actions of the 2003 General Convention. A special legislative committee was tasked with crafting, and bringing to the floor, resolutions that would address these requests, one of which was to effect a "moratorium" on the consecration of any more non-celibate gay bishops. The committee's resolution on this question had been defeated in the HOD two days before the scheduled close of convention. At stake was the participation of members of TEC in the wider councils of the Anglican Communion, including the Lambeth Conference. This is why Bishop Griswold and Bishop Jefferts Schori advocated so assiduously for its passage.

Contrary to what some have written, the purpose of B033 was not to smooth the way for conservatives in certain offshore provinces to participate in Lambeth and other meetings. It was to ensure that TEC would have a place at such venues. And it was, by all accounts, successful. While some, myself included, have at times contended that it was not worthy of such success, B033, together with the HOB New Orleans statement in September 2007, was a key ingredient in the issuance of invitations to our bishops to attend Lambeth '08, to say nothing of the Presiding Bishop's continued participation in the Primates' Meeting.

Even though there has been no recent drama, Deputies and Bishops should be under no illusion that "all is well" with respect to TEC's relationship with the Anglican Communion and continued unclouded communion with the See of Canterbury. The reports of the Windsor Continuation Group at last summer's Lambeth Conference, along with the presidential addresses of Archbishop Williams, can lead to no optimism for our continued place in the communion should we back off from what are understood by the rest of the communion to be commitments on our part. Those for whom such considerations are of marginal importance may well feel emboldened to make the mind of this Church with respect to "full inclusion" crystal clear. But those for whom our place in the Communion is still a non-negotiable mark of Episcopalian identity will, no matter what their opinions may be on the sexuality issues, want to think long and hard before voting Aye on any resolutions stemming from such boldness.

Epiphany

I don't have anything terribly profound to say about this feast, which is probably in itself profound. 

Mostly, I'm grateful for the opportunity to be part of a community that is willing to keep it with me. It's a lot to ask of people to come to church on a weeknight--some to serve at the altar, some to read, some to sing in the choir, some to fix the post-liturgical repast--especially when freezing rain is in the forecast. But I asked, and about 70 of them said yes. That's about half of our total attendance on a typical Sunday. Certainly critical mass (pardon the pun) for soul-satisfying worship.

To paraphrase Ray Kinsella, "If you feed them, they will come." So we had spaghetti and garlic bread and salad ... and a little red wine for the grownups. Three of our high school thespians did a brief "reader's theater" presentation adapted from Matthew's and Luke's gospels. People lingered, enjoying one another's company.

Before that, in the liturgy, we began in dark silence (or was it silent darkness?). After a greeting mentioning light, and a snippet from the prologue to John's gospel about the light that the darkness could not overcome, the altar candles, and the people's hand candles, were langorously lit. Then, while everyone sang the (really) ancient Greek hymn Phos hilaron (usually rendered "O gracioius light," but I like to think more literally: "O hilarious light!"), I walked around the altar swinging incense, which, to tell you the truth, is one my favorite things to do.

The homily was a "children's sermon" (not a frequent event in my minsitry). I gathered them around the creche and sort of did the Art Linkletter thing (if you catch that allusion, you're really old; if not, don't worry), hoping, of course, that the adults would overhear, because I was wanting to get through to them as much as to the kids. I suspect it probably worked, at least a little bit.

Oh ... and I got to sing "Brightest and best of the stars of the morning," which, if I didn't get to sing it, would rob me of that old "Epiphany feeling." See, I'm a little eccentric in what I get sentimental about.

The Lord has shown forth his glory: Come, let us adore him.

Meeting the 22nd Century

My first grandchild--Charlotte Louise Martins Washington--was born three weeks ago tomorrow. But since her house is 537 miles away from mine, Nana Dragonfly and I were not able to meet her personally untl yesterday. She's a beauty, alright, and we are thrilled to begin our relationship with her. She won't remember it, of course--though, God knows, there will be plenty of pictures to prove to her that the event took place. 

Most of what needs to be said at a moment like this, of course, is inarticulable--except, perhaps, in poetry, and I don't have that particular muse just right now. It is a liminal time, suffused with mystery. My grandparents saw the 19th century. It is not at all inconceivable that this grandchild (and any who may follow her) will see the 22nd. Awesome.

In the meantime, check out the effect I have on her:

What Santa Brought Me

On the first day of Christmas ... well, a couple of days early, for practical family reasons ... my wife and kids (two of them in absentia) presented me with a gift bag containing a lump of charcoal and an egg dyed green. It did not take me long to deduce that they stood in for a very trendy (and I say that in a positive way) piece of equipment used for grilling and smoking. 

Yum. I so have spring fever.

But on this fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... a dictionary.

So, as you can see, not just any dictionary. This is the Mother of All Dictionaries (the ones in English, at any rate). It's a twenty volume set, only a small fraction of which I will ever read before I bequeath them to my children, who will undoubtedly squabble over them voraciously.

The first edition was published eighty years ago (hence, the numerals on the graphic). This is the second edition, which came out in 1989. So it is, in some sense, obsolete. But it was obsolete before the ink was dry; such is the fate of any snapshot of a living human language. 

I have long been, in the true sense of both these words (look them up in your OED!), an amateur philologist. So this is an exciting gift. I will leave you with this tidbit from the opening entry, on the letter A:

3. In Abstract reasoning, hypothetical argumentation, Law, etc. A means any one thing or person...

1866 (in Bowen Logic iii, p. 49) Every conceivable thing is either A nor not-A. Of course, A and not-A, taken together, include the universe.

Ponder that!

An Important Conversation

Fellow Northern Indianan, newly-minted PhD, short-term missionary that my parish (modestly) helps support, and incoming editor of The Living Church--and my good friend--Christopher Wells has participated in a quite important dialogue-tiliting-toward debate with the Revd Dr William Franklin of the Anglican Centre in Rome over some of the factors underlying our current Anglican Angst. If you're a true Anglican geek, watch the whole thing (some 47 minutes). Or see the trailer here.

This Is Only A Test

The following Christmas greeting is widely available on the web, and I suspect that most readers of this blog have already seen it, and know the source. But, just in case you haven't, give it a look . . . with both an open heart and an analytical eye. (I have only slightly edited it to remove obvious clues.) What do you think? Is this a fair representation of Christmas or "the Christmas spirit"? Was it written by a Christian? Is it a within the wide bounds of Christian belief? What do you think?

In the Name of God the Compassionate the Merciful.
Upon the anniversary of the birth of Jesus, Son of Mary, the Word of God, the Messenger of mercy, I would like to congratulate the followers of Jesus Christ.

The Almighty created the universe for human brings and created human beings for Himself.

He created every human being with the ability to reach the heights of perfection. He called on man to aim to live a good life in this world and to work to achieve his everlasting life.

On this difficult and challenging journey of man from dust to the divine, He did not leave humanity to its own devices. He chose from those He created the most excellent as His Prophets to guide humanity.

All prophets called for the worship of God, for love and brotherhood, for the establishment of justice and for love in human society. Jesus, the Son of Mary is the standard-bearer of justice, of love for our fellow human beings of the fight against tyranny, discrimination and injustice.

All the problems that have bedevilled humanity throughout the ages came about because of humanity followed an evil path and disregarded the message of the Prophets.

Now as human society faces a myriad of problems and succession of complex crises, the root causes can be found in humanity's rejection of that message, in particular the indifference of some governments and powers towards the teachings of the divine Prophets, especially those of Jesus Christ.

The crises in society, the family, morality, politics, security and the economy which have made life hard for humanity and continue to put great pressure on all nations have come about because the Prophets have been forgotten, the Almighty has been forgotten and some leaders are estranged from God.

If Christ was on earth today undoubtedly he would stand with the people in opposition to bullying, ill-tempered and expansionist powers.

If Christ was on earth today undoubtedly he would hoist the banner of justice and love for humanity to oppose warmongers, occupiers, terrorists and bullies the world over.

If Christ was on earth today undoubtedly he would fight against the tyrannical policies of prevailing global economic and political systems, as He did in His lifetime. The solution to today's problems can be found in a return to the call of the divine Prophets. The solution to these crises can be found in following the prophets -- they were sent by the Almighty, for the happiness of humanity.

Today, little by little, the general will of nations is calling for fundamental change. This is now taking place. Demands for change, demands for transformation, demands for a return to human values are fast becoming the foremost demands of nations of the world. The response to this demand must be real and true. The prerequisite to this change is a change in goals, intentions and directions. If tyrannical goals are repackaged in an attractive and deceptive package and imposed on nations again, the people, awakened, will stand up against them.

Fortunately, today as crises and despair multiply, a wave of hope is gathering momentum. Hope for a brighter future, hope for the establishment of justice, hope for real peace, hope for finding virtuous and pious rulers who love the people and want to serve them – and this is what the Almighty has promised.

We believe, Jesus Christ will return and would lead the world to a rightful point; to a world of love, brotherhood and justice. The responsibility of all followers of Christ is to move towards that and to prepare the way for the fulfilment of this divine promise and the arrival of that joyful, shining and wonderful age. I hope that the collective will of nations will unite in the not too distant future and with the grace of the Almighty Lord, that shining age will come to rule the earth.

Once again, I congratulate one and all on the anniversary of the birth of Jesus Christ and I pray for the New Year to be a year of happiness, prosperity peace and brotherhood for humanity. I wish you every success.

Much Ado About Rick Warren

I have no personal investment in Rick Warren. I only skimmed A Purpose-Driven Life, so I could talk about it semi-intelligently when it was all the rage, but, while I found its contents quite sound and commendable and well-stated, they did not strike me as either original or remarkably profound. And while I cannot help but admire his accomplishments as a pastor and leader, he and I are in some very different places theologically (it's not a liberal-conservative thing, more of a catholic-evangelical thing). 

Which is all to say, I don't have a need to come to Rick Warren's defense. That which threatens him does not necessarily threaten me. And still less does he need me to come to his defense!

Pastor Warren has been in the spotlight over the past few days since the President-elect invited him to deliver the invocation and next month's inaugural ceremonies. Portions of Mr Obama's liberal base were disenchanted with that announcement, the problem being an apparent disconnect between Pastor Warren's views on certain social issues, which are decidedly conservative, and the President-elect's views, which are ... not so conservative.

Now, I don't really have a dog in this hunt. I was not among the jubilant on election night. But, by virtue of being an Episcopalian, I do have a stake in what some of the leading voices in my church are saying about this tempest. Pastor Warren was a visible supporter of Proposition 8 in his home state of California, and this has not set well with the guardians of gay rights orthodoxy in TEC. Some of the participants on the House of Bishops/Deputies listserv (HoBD) have suggested substantial similarity between Pastor Warren's views on homosexuality and those of Fred Phelps. (Click on the link and see for yourself, but I cannot bring myself to reproduce any of his truly vile and hateful screed.) They are incensed that he has used the term "holocaust" in connection with the number of abortions that take place in this country. They have labeled Warren's views extremist and resisted suggestions that he simply represents the mainstream of contemporary American evangelicalism. 

To all this I have to say . . . poppycock. Let's take the "abortion holocaust" issue first. Critics treat it like it's a comparison Rick Warren invented from whole cloth and is the only one using it. Has the Roman Catholic Church suddenly become invisible? As long ago as the ealy 1980s, John Powell, a popular Jesuit with a sort of cult following beyond church circles, published a book with the title Abortion: A Silent Holocaust, and the comparison has been part of Roman Catholic polemic on abortion ever since. My point is not to defend the language--although I think a cogent case can be made for its appositeness--but to point out that it's standard rhetorical fare. It can only be branded as extremist if one is willing to also so consign several tens of millions (at least) Americans. Rick Warren has lots of company on this.

But the bulk of the anti-Warren invective, including that emanating from Episcopalians, concerns his views on the place of same-sex relationships in American society. On the basis of this interview, his critics accuse him of trying to draw a moral equivalnce between committed same-sex relationships and relationships such as incest and pedophilia. This is tabloid jounalism of the worst sort. In fact, one could quite plausibly accuse him of not being hard enough on incest and pedophilia, since all he says is that they should not be labeled as "marriage"! If I were to denounce the suggestion that the definition of "lung" can be stretched to include "part of the digestive tract," does that make me an opponent of "equal rights for lungs"? I hope not! All I would be saying is that lungs should be allowed to be lungs and stomachs should be allowed to be stomachs, without confusing the two.

So, yes, the man has conservative views. But we're clearly not talking about some redneck bigot parroting unreflective prejudices. He supports gay rights on the concrete issues that actually affect lives (e.g. hospital visitation, inheritance). He opposes stretching the definition of marriage in ways it would never have occurred to anyone to stretch it before quite recently. In his opposition, he is neither mean-spirited nor unreasonable, and is not not only part of mainstream evangelicalism but enjoys the company of 52% of the California electorate, across sectarian lines. 

It seems worth adding that, while Rick Warren's views diverge from those that are apparently regnant at this time in the history of the Episcopal Church, they are solidly in the mainstream of global Anglicanism, both historical and contemporary. 

Church Property Disputes & Common Sense

There's been a temptest raging today over on HoB/D over the amount of money (some $2 million, apparently) that the Episcopal Church has spent so far in legal fees trying to recover property held by congregations (and now dioceses) that have elected to sever their ties with "this church." The original poster opined that it is sinful to spend that kind of money taking other Christians to court. "Why not rather be defrauded?" as St Paul put it to the Corinthians. That poster subsequently got piled on by those putting forth the view that it's a simple matter of thievery (that is, on the part of "leaving" congregations); they're taking property that was intended to manifest the life and work of the Episcopal Church in perpetuity, and they must be resisted by every available means. I finally weighed in as follows:

I find myself dismayed by many aspects of this thread, though I am hard pressed to find anything to say that I have not already said many times, on this listserv and elsewhere. Anyone who thinks that there is one simple moral principle that can be applied like a blanket to cover all the property disputes that arise from the current unpleasantness is just not looking at reality. No two of these situations are exactly alike. The history, the present human dynamics, the financial paper trail, and a host of other factors, all contribute to the moral calculus in each individual case. 

Take, for example, a 150-year old physical plant that was paid for by long-departed donors. Yes, they clearly intended to advance the ministry of the Episcopal Church in their location--the founding documents probably say as much explicitly--so there is *prima facie* a strong presumption in favor of their stated wishes being honored. But it is more than plausible to counter that they would not recognize the Episcopal Church today as the same one they were intending to perpetuate, and not particularly because of any of the currently controverted issues. The mere fact that a set of chasubles fills the sacristy drawers may be enough to cause many of them to retrospectively rethink their largesse if such were possible. One cannot assume that the great-grandparents of today's senior parishioners would have one opinion or the other about "leaving" or "staying" in TEC as it is today. 

So, the repeated mantra of "fiduciary responsibility" wears a little thin. One must turn to other factors to make a prudent and sensible decision. If a majority of the present active congregation is in favor of leaving, but a significant minority is in favor of staying, the latter group should certainly not be turned out into the street--or the VFW hall. IMHO, too little imagination and charity have been exhibited in such situations; the winner-take-all mentality has been destructive. (The Colorado Springs situation seems a case-in-point here.) 

On the other hand, when a congregation is a relatively recent plant and the facilities have been paid for by parishioners who are more or less the present congregation, and the diocese has made no investment beyond the brand name, and there is an overwhelming vote in favor of leaving, it strikes me as beyond inane to take those folks to court. Justice is just a matter of common sense for those with open eyes. 

Then there are the "bite my nose to spite my face" cases where any victory on the part of TEC is pyrrhic because they're left with a church and a steeple but when they open the doors there are no people. Just heating and lawn care bills--and in many cases, a mortgage. Meanwhile, the people that could be worshiping and serving there are...you guessed it...celebrating the Eucharist in the VFW hall on Sunday mornings. That's just idiotic. My former parish is in one of the four departed dioceses. Between my departure and my successor's arrival they eradicated the word "Episcopal" anywhere it was found and replaced it with "Anglican." Sooner or later, Mr Beers will get around to suing them. If he wins, he'll have a very handsome set of buildings dating back to the late 19th century and which are a collective black hole for maintenance dollars. I hope he enjoys watching them fall apart, because my guess is that even the residents of the columbarium will have relocated by then. 

This is a complicated mess. It requires a complicated cleanup. Nostrums about thievery are not helpful.

I'm a Grampa!

Here she is. All 8 lbs. of her. Born a little after 1 PM Central Time today. Ain't she cute?!

Covenant, the ???

If you frequent this corner of cyperspace, chances are you are already aware of this one. I am privileged to have been associated with Covenant-Communion.com since its inception some 16 months ago. Last weekend, about half of our 30ish contributors met in Dallas, many of us for the first time. We all came away energized by the calling we discern for our collective self as the history of Anglican Christianity is being made and re-made on a virtually daily basis. We are evolving from "just a blog" to ... what? A "movement"? We as yet see through the glass somewhat darkly, but something significant is brewing.

When I look at the picture of us, I feel out of place, because I was with several of the brightest minds in the Communion (and beyond). I'm especially pleased to have been distinctly over the median age of the group. That bodes well.

On Doing the Wrong Thing Well

One cannot practice the Christian faith both long and deeply without somehow coming to terms with its paradoxical nature: God is one and God is three, Jesus is divine and Jesus is human, humans bears God's image and humans are fallen sinners, law is good and grace is good, faith and works are both key to salvation, etc. etc. The contradictory pairs keep on coming.

It is somewhat in that spirit that I take on what is by any estimation a big event in the development of Anglican Christianity. Tomorrow, in Wheaton, Illinois (part of the greater territory of my old childhood stomping grounds), representatives of a variety of ecclesial structures populated overwhelmingly by former Episcopalians and Canadian Anglicans will assemble and constitute themselves as a church--one with a unified structure, a constitution and canons, liturgical formularies (one presumes), and methods of discipline; in short, all the institutional paraphernalia of a church. In Anglican parlance, they will style themselves a "province." Their undisguised intention is, in time, to effectively replace the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Church of Canada as the holder of the Anglican "franchise" in North America.

I will not be there, even though I'm only some 150 miles away. I am, for the foreseeable future, an Episcopalian, and this is a decision I have made for reasons that range from the sublime to the mundane, from the principled to the practical. For me, this is the path of obedience. Moreover, I wish they were not doing what they are doing. As one who says the creeds enthusiastically without crossing his fingers and who does not believe any church is at liberty to recast the vision of marriage that "was established by God in creation" (Book of Common Prayer, p. 423), I continue to believe that it was a mistake, both theologically and strategically, for those who will form the new province tomorrow to have left the Episcopal Church. If I were in a position to wave a wand and dictate my will, they would all return.

But among those who gather in Wheaton (or who at least will be represented by those who gather), many are my friends. Per the Psalmist, "we took sweet counsel together, and walked with the throng in the house of God." (55:15) These are people with whom I have labored side by side in a number of contexts for the sake of the gospel. And my own vision of that gospel generally accords much more closely with theirs than it does with the that of the regnant leadership of my own church/province. So I am experiencing what I learned in my Psych 1 course nearly four decades ago to call "cognitive dissonance." I may as well come out with it: Even though in my mind I am persuaded of what I wrote in the above paragraph, there is no small part of my heart that is envious of those who are part of the new province. I won't bother to catalog the reasons for my envy; just stating the fact is sufficiently cathartic. (Aside to MBTI-philes: The fact that I am an INTJ explains why my head trumps my heart in this and just about every other matter.)

So, even though I would have it some other way if I could, the fact remains that I cannot, and that being the case, I find it in my mind (and my heart, truth to tell) to offer a valediction of sorts to the "Council of Wheaton." I have hopes for their project, even while I am not part of it:

• I hope that will find a way to emphasize the joys and the truths that they are affirming, and minimize any rhetoric about the sorrows and falsehoods they believe themselves to be leaving behind.
• I hope they will not surrender a commitment to communion with the See of Canterbury as a determinitive mark of Anglican identity.
• I hope they will not lose sight of the traditional Anglican value of comprehensiveness and diversity within the bounds of creedal orthodoxy.
• I hope they will maintain a spirit of respect and fraternal love toward those whose call is to maintain a witness within the Episcopal Church.
• I hope they will open themselves to the notion that those who are mistaken on certain questions of sexual morality are not thereby necessarily heretical and/or apostate, but simply wrong.
• I hope they will quickly overcome the differences between the divergent ecclesial cultures that have grown up even during the short time that extra-mural North American Anglicans have sought refuge in a number of different ports.
• I hope they will embrace humility and gentleness of spirit with such abandon that the hearts of any detractors will melt in the face of such resistless love. 

My friends, in the words attributed to Luther, "sin boldly." If you are going to indeed do what you have evidently put your minds to, do it well. If it turns out you are wholly wrong (and the Spirit will make that clear over time), I will personally leave the light on for you here. If it turns out I'm the one who's whistling in the dark, save me a spot.

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.

Who's Episcopal and Who's Not

In 2000, Arnold Schwarzenegger starred in the sci-fi flick The 6th Day. He plays a cop who discovers that there's a clone of himself running around--fully grown, identical in voice and appearance, and sharing all his memories and abilities. You don't need me to describe the conflicts and plot possibilities inherent in that notion; they're pretty easily imagined.

Here's a parody on that theme. But before you watch it, if you're up to speed on the plot of 24/7 serial tragi-comedy Anglicanland: The Reality Show, prepare to make some connections.

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Did you see the Emerging North American Province? Did you spot the Church-of-General-Convention? Did you catch a glimpse of the Covenant-signing Communion Partners? 

No? You didn't? You must look more closely. Oddly enough, I think there is some insight for Anglicans in this film--well, maybe not in the execution, but certainly in the concept.

Earlier this month, the dioceses of Quincy and Fort Worth did what everyone knew they were going to do and severed their relationship with the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, and thereby from the institutional (constitutional and canonical) structure thereof. In so doing, they joined San Joaquin and Pittsburgh. For the time being, this appears to be it, unless there are rumblings from elsewhere that I have missed.

After practicing on San Joaquin (with several miscues amply noted in the record), the Presiding Bishop and her Chancellor have by now learned their lines pretty well--so well, in fact, that the rest of us can lip-synch with them: "We lament the news that some individuals in the Diocese of X. have decided to leave the Episcopal Church. Of course, while individuals are free to leave this church, dioceses and parishes cannot. Hence, all property, real and personal, which was under the trusteeship of those persons who have left is now owned by those who choose to remain members of the Episcopal Church. In the meantime, we will be deposing Bishop N. and all the clergy who have departed with him."

Or some such.

The news today is that the Presiding Bishop attempted to "pull a Duncan" on Bishop Iker of Fort Worth and have him inhibited and desposed just for planning to leave, but the Title IV Review Committee declined to act with sufficient expedition to make this possible. But now--appropriately after the fact--they have indeed met and certified the charge of abandonment, and Bishop Iker has received his inhibition letter. Formal deposition will no doubt occur at the March 2009 meeting of the House of Bishops.

Of course, none of this matters to Bishop Iker and the strong majority in the Diocese of Fort Worth, as is evident in their quick response to 815. The substance of these statements ("You're not the boss of us anymore...and you never were anyway") is quite predictable and not particularly noteworthy. But two details merit a second look. 

First, the letterhead still reads "The Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth," and I don't think it's because they're just trying to be frugal and work through their old supply before they spring for new stationery. Now, when San Joaquin said "See yah!" they couldn't wait to get rid of the word "Episcopal" from all their communications media. People treated it like a bag of rotten food retrieved from the back of the bottom shelf in the refrirgerator, holding it at arms length with one hand and pinching their noses with the other on their way out to the trash bin. But when Pittsburgh's time came, they continued to style themselves the Episcopal Diocese of Pittsburgh even after renouncing their relationship with General Convention and aligning themselves with the Province of the Southern Cone. Now, apparently, Forth Worth is following suit. (Whether Quincy has done the same I am not aware.)

Then, to drive this point home, the letter from Fort Worth's Standing Committee not only rejects the validity Presiding Bishop's Letter of Inhibition against Bishop Iker (since she has no authority over clergy discipline in the Province of the Southern Cone), but calls it a "border crossing." (!) 

The inference begging to be drawn from both Pittsburgh and Fort Worth is that not only do they believe themselves to have seceded from the Episcopal Church, but they have done so organically and with institutional continuity with their former selves, such that those parishes where the leadership wishes to be part of TEC cannot do so by passively "remaining" anywhere, but need to actively withdraw from "the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth, Jack Leo Iker, Bishop" and then seek affiliation with TEC on whatever terms it can negotiate. And while these processes are working themselves out, the Presiding Bishop and her emissaries are viewed as interlopers if they have any dealings with those who were clerical or lay members of the Episcopal Diocese of Forth Worth as it was constituted on November 14.

It comes as no surprise that 815 has a different narrative by which they read current events. In that narrative, only individuals can leave, so anyone who is no longer under the authority of the constitution and canons of TEC and who continues to occupy property or control other assets of the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth is, in fact, a squatter at best, and very possibly a thief. Those who decline to follow their leaders to the Southern Cone represent the continuing "Episcopal dioceses" of San Joaquin, Pittsburgh, Quincy, and Fort Worth. 

When Adam Gibson, Mr Shwarzenegger's character in The 6th Day, discovers that there is a clone of himself, he knows that his only hope for a happy life lies in the utter destruction of the clone. Understandably, the clone feels precisely the same way, with the roles reversed. The clone, you see, carries all the memories of the original Adam Gibson. He has no recollection of being recently created and then assuming Adam Gibson's persona. As far as he is concerned, he is Adam Gibson, and anyone else who claims title to Adam Gibson's identity is a mortal threat. 

Now, there are a number of reasons why I am not a Hollywood screenplay writer, and among them is my inclination to resolve the Adam Gibson question peacefully. Maybe the wife and kids could be cloned as well, so there could be two parallel Gibson families, living in widely separated locations (say, one in Texas and the other in Argentina? OK, lame attempt at humor).

I think there is both enough guilt and enough innocence to go around in all four--or, I should probably say, all eight, when you include the clones--of the "Episcopal" dioceses of blessed memory--and for that matter, throughout the vulnerable infrastructure of Anglican Christianity. There need not be either heroes or villains. Everyone, both the leavers and the stayers (whatever one construes leaving and staying to look like), share the same memory, the same appearance, the same voice, the same abilities, as they shared before there were any leavers or stayers. Both have a legitimate claim to their shared inheritance--and I'm talking about an inheritance of identity, which is much more important than any dispute over bricks and mortar. Settling the property disputes raises some difficult issues, some of them agonizing. But they will remain intractable until some accomodation is reached on the identity issue. Solving that one is possible, I'm convinced, if any measure of charity can prevail. It's so easy that it's difficult, and so difficult that it's easy.

Up In Smoke

The heart-wrenching news for me today comes from the Santa Barbara suburban neighborhood of Montecito, home of Westmont College, my alma mater. 

It's on fire.

The news reports mention it being a wealthy community, and it is. If you're not familiar with the area, we're talking about one of the most beautiful places on earth, a synergistic synthesis of natural and human artifice. It will recover its beauty--so innately and deeply gifted is the area. But some spectacular residential architecture will be lost, homes that, even though the vast majority of us could never afford to live in them, we are blessed by nonetheless because we partake of the same human spirit--lit by the Divine spirit--that is able to climb such aesthetic heights.

The edifice that anchors the Westmont campus is Kerrwood Hall, one of these vintage Montecito mansions that date from the 1920s. The college has been there since 1945, now covering some 139 acres and using several dozen buildings. I have learned tonight that unit 'S' of the Clark Hall dorm complex is one of the buildings that has been destroyed by the Tea Fire. I lived in 'Clark S' my junior year at Westmont, so the news brings me up short, and sends me on multitudinous trips down Memory Lane. It was in Clark Hall that I first had "too much to drink" (quite against the rules, I assure you). It was while living there that I began dating and got engaged to the love of my life. The list could go on.

I am grateful that there seem to be no injuries or deaths at Westmont, though a couple of hundred students suddenly have nowhere to live. More importantly, fourteen faculty homes have been destroyed, which is a horror for those families that I cannot even begin to imagine. 

I've not been the most gung-ho booster of my alma mater over the years. This is perhaps largely because I quit running in the free-church evangelical circles that form Westmont's core constituency. But I have always been, and will ever be, immensely grateful for my four years there (plus three more married to an adjunct faculty member). I received a challenging and integrative liberal arts education that continues to inform my participation in the universe of intellectual discourse, theological reflection, and the use of the English language. As a bonus, I acquired knowledge and skills in the field of music (my major) that I still make use of on a virtually daily basis in my work as a parish priest. (Sadly, they could not turn me into a competent french horn player; I only look competent in the above photo, taken after my senior recital.) And I must never forget that it was in a Westmont College music department practice room that, alone during spring break of my sophomore year in 1971, I sat down at a piano with the Hymnal 1940 and said to myself, "Where have these hymns been all my life? If there's a church that actually sings them, I need to be in it." That was the nodal point in my discovery of the Anglican tradition.

Of your charity, please hold the Westmont community in your prayers.

Hot News from the Heartland, II

(See here for Part I.)

Warsaw, Indiana--where I live and move and have my being--is the seat of Kosciusko (kah-zee-AH-sko) County. (One might surmise that it was settled by Polish immigrants, but that is not the case. The state legislator in the 1830s, a Mr Chapman, who somehow acquired the naming rights, wanted to honor George Washington's Polish comrade-in-arms, Tadeusz Kosciusko, and, as a bonus gesture, named the planned county seat after the capital of Mr Kosciusko's native land.)

By the standards of most Americans--certainly by the standards of my life before moving here--Warsaw qualifies as a "small town." The inside-the-city-limits population is only some 12,000. We're about 45 miles NW of Fort Wayne and 50 miles SE of South Bend. Still talking small towns, you say? Well, we're roughly 120 miles from both Chicago and Indianapolis, in opposite directions. 

Yet, we are not without urban (OK, suburban) amenities. We have a WalMart, a K-Mart, a Lowe's, and a Menard's under construction. (Discerning shoppers still patronize the locally-owned Ace Hardware, however.) We have two McDonalds, two Dairy Queens, and two Arbys, plus one each of Taco Bell, Wendy's, Burger King, Hardee's (Carl's Jr. for you Californians), Long John Silver's, Quizno's, KFC, Subway, several pizza joints, and three locations of our home-grown sensation, Penguin Point (ever get a hankerin' for a pork tenderloin sandwich?). And as for sit-down chains, we have Applebee's, Bennigan's, Bob Evans, Golden Corral, and the favorite default of the Dragonfly and me, Ruby Tuesday. Plus, we have four more-than-respectable locally-owned fine dining restaurants that can compete with anything the big cities have to offer. And did I mention our symphony orchestra? (No Starbucks at this time.)

So...you want small town? I'm not sure we qualify. But I'll tell you what does. About four or five miles up State Route 15 from the northern edge of Warsaw is the tiny town of Leesburg. It's actually older than Warsaw (incorporated 1833) and in the 2000 census had a population of all of 625 souls. It has brick streets lined by mature trees and vintage homes. The local grocery store sports a meat market that attracts in-the-know shoppers from all over the county. 

But Leesburg apparently has aspirations to bigger and better things. They no longer want to be in the backwash of Claypool, Etna Green, and Atwood. They've gone high-tech. Very 21st century. The headline from yesterday's edition of the Warsaw Times-Union put Kosciusko County residents on high alert:

Leesburg Upgrades to Computerized Accounting System

It's been the subject of every water cooler conversation in every county workplace all day, I'm sure. Here are the details (courtesy of Jen Gibson, Lifestyles editor of the Times-Union):

Thanks to a new computerized accounting system, the Leesburg Town Council will receive a simpler printout of the town's accounts.

Until now, all the town's accounts were figured by hand, and all invoices and accounts were listed on hand-written ledgers.

Monday night, Town Clerk Melissa Robinson explained the new printouts to council members and told them how the system works. "It makes (paying invoices and tracking accounts) much, much easier," Robinson said.

I'm so energized by this that I'm considering recommending to my Vestry that they think about putting our church finances on a computer. We don't quite have 625 members, but I can see several advantages to following Leesburg's lead. Just because you're small doesn't mean you can't be cutting edge.

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.