Mixed Feelings

I'm on a brief bit of vacation, and about to head to the airport and NYC until late Thursday night. (Eldest Child lives there.)

Meanwhile, there's this Big Meeting in Bedford, Texas. I can't write a huge amount right now, and may not have that much profound to say anyway. But I just need to go on record that I simultaneously 1) don't think it had to come to this, and am pretty clear about my vocation to remain an Episcopalian; and 2) wish the folks well. They're my friends. I'm happy that they're excited about what they're doing, and hope they heed my repeated hope that we all "walk apart close together."

Off to Gotham.

Postscript on HWHM

My upstream post on the proposed revision of Lesser Feasts & Fasts--styled Holy Women, Holy Men--has generated a fair amount of attention, especially on HoB/D, thanks to a boost from a member of that community. Initially, the comments were nearly unanimously in agreement with my assessment that the work is still immature and definitely not ready for prime time. I found it particularly intresting that these responses cut across the usual ideological lines; it's not just a "conservative" issue.

I will attempt not to repeat the points I made in my earlier post, as I think they still pertain. But one of the commenters hit a bullseye with her observation that the proposed additions represent not so much "holy women and holy men" as "decent people who tried to do good things." Another voice keeps raising the question of Henry Purcell: He was by any stretch an accomplished musician and a pivotal figure in the development of Anglican church music. But was he noted for the strength of his Christian piety or the heroism of his spiritual discipline? Does he have, to use the technical vocabuly of the sanctoral calender biz, a "cult"? If the answer is No, then why is he there, rather than any number of other important English musicians, such as, say, S.S. Wesley, or Stanford, or Parry, or Vaughan Williams or Howells? And this is not so much about who anyone's favortie Anglican composer is; it's about the disconnect between the SCLM's stated criteria for inclusion and many of the names they actually propose for inclusion.

More lately, a couple of SCLM members have weighed in, for which I am grateful. They point out that the wholesale revision of LF&F, as opposed to a continuing gradual tweaking, is a response to the request of General Convention itself in 2003, re-affirmed in 2006. Ah, yes, but it's not that simple. In both those years, the relevant resolutions were A-resolutions, which means the originated from one the bodies that pursues convention's work during the intervening three years. So what we did, in fact, in both cases, was simply ratify the SCLM's own agenda for reform. To say, "We only giving you what you asked for" seems a little disingenuous.

That said, I'm appreciative of the observation that HWHM presumes (and attempts to engender, I would suppose) a fundamental attitudinal change toward the place of any sanctoral calendar in the life of the church, stressing the "optional" in the label "days of optional observance," rather than "we all do all the days." Fine. This gets my attention, and gives me pause. I've always wanted to cherry-pick saints' days anyway. But more of a case needs to be made for this, and the Blue Book report doesn't make that case. In fact, the Blue Book report doesn't make much of any case. It just lays the 112 new ones out there, with a bare minimum of explanation, and no justification to speak of. If we're going to swallow this meal whole, we're going to need some stronger medicine than we've been given to help us digest it. Somebody needs to persuade me not merely that John Henry Newman and Fanny Crosby did some pretty impressive things as part of their Christian discipleship--I already think they're both pretty cool--but that we would not in fact be dishonoring them by including them in our calendar when Newman quite intentionally abandoned the Anglican fellowship and Crosby was in a tradition that would look askance, to say the least, at the very notion of the same. (Pretty clever to include "praising her Savior all the day long" in the collect, but how many Episcopalians even sing "Blessed Assurance"?) I guess what I'm saying is that we need to have the philosophical conversation about what a sanctoral calendar is before we start horse-trading on the particular names ("I'll live with Richard Baxter if you agree to get rid of John Calvin."). I realize the members of the SCLM feel like they've already had that conversation, but the rest of us weren't in the room to overhear. We need some more talkin' to.

D020

The General Convention resolution of which I am a co-sponsor is now officially in the pipeline and has been given the name by which it will be known and referred to for the extent of its lifespan (however long that might be!): D020. It has been assigned to Legislative Committee #8 (World Mission), and the house of initial action is the House of Deputies.

Given the debacle that took place at the meeting of the Anglican Consultative Council in Jamaica last month, one might be tempted to consider the matter somewhat moot. Quite the opposite is in fact the case, I believe.

The text of the resolution, of course, calls for the voluntary and provisional agreement of the Episcopal Church to abide by the terms of the most recent draft of the propsed covenant while we study what impact it may (or may not) have on our Constitution & Canons. If the ACC had actuallly endorsed the covenant and formally commended it, critics of D020 could well argue that its passage would nonetheless be a de facto acceptance on a permanent basis. But given what actually did transpire in Jamaica, that argument gets no traction.

Instead, with that pressure removed, General Convention is free to act in a way that is consistent with the generosity of spirit evinced in 2006 resolutions A159 (Commitment of Interdependence in the Anglican Communion), A160 (Expression of Regret), and A165 (Commitment to Windsor and Listening Process). If we indeed meant what we said in those resolutions, there is no plausible reason not to enact D020 in Anaheim.

Soundings from the Upper Peninsula

There will be no official declaration until next month sometime, but those who follow the matter closely have determined that a sufficient number of Standing Committees (i.e. more than half, which means 56+) have signaled their non-consent to the election of the Revd Kevin Thew Forrester as Bishop of Northern Michigan that the matter is effectively decided in the negative. Votes can always be changed until the 120-day time frame has expired (which, interestingly, will happen during General Convention, though the question will not come under that body's purview), but I haven't encountered any plausible scenarios under which that would take place.

I think it's safe to say that, even while we have seen this verdict emerging inexorably over the last several weeks, it is a development that observers from all ideological vantage points within North American Anglicanism find more than a little bit surprising. On the day the election (or, more accurately, perhaps, "discerned decision") was announced, few would have imagined it. Even when the first headlines about Forrester's "lay ordination" in Buddhism broke, the smart money would have been on eventual consent and consecration, with the usual conservative suspects howling along the path to the cathedral.

At first, it was the bishop-elect's connection to Buddhism that got all the attention. Then there was the unconventional manner in which the election process was carried out that raised a good bit of concern. But if those were the only issues, I think they would be decorating the hall for the post-consecration reception by now. What eventually turned the tide was the widespread realization, obvious for all to see in his own published works, that Father Thew Forrester interprets the fundamental symbols of the Paschal Mystery in ways that rob them of any substance that can be coherently reconciled with what the Church has understood them to mean for the last two millennia. Even thoughtful "progressives" can see that he proclaims "another gospel."

In the world of cyberspace, reaction has been largely muted. From the left, there has certainly been some gnashing of teeth, with cries of "assassination by internet," and dire warnings that future bishop-elect will have to be "vetted like Supreme Court nominees," and that therefore only "safe" candidates who won't do anything to upset the general ecclesiastical equilibrium (as if any such thing even exists) will ever get elected. But this sort of whining has been by way of a solo performance here or there, and never (as far as I can see, at least) a howling ensemble.

But this does not mean that there is open rejoicing on the starboard side of the vessel--well, there's no open rejoicing anywhere that I can tell, actually, but certainly not among what might be called the "hard right" (many or most of whom have already left the Episcopal Church anyway). My hunch is that, privately, there are a bunch of jaws on the floor waiting to be picked up while their owners try to assimilate and make sense of the information that even such dependable liberals as the Bishop and Standing Committee of the Diocese of Los Angeles are lined up in the No column. What could that possibly mean?

No, there is no dancing in the streets with this news, and that is probably as it should be. While I personally concur with the decision reached by a majority of the Standing Committees, Kevin Thew Forrester is by all accounts a gifted leader and the sort of person you would want to have as your friend and neighbor. He's a real human being with real feelings and this has got to hurt big time. His family is also hurting, as are the members of the diocese that chose him.

But if there's no partying, for good reason, there is definitely a huge sigh of relief, and maybe even a little bit of quiet hope. And where this relief and hope exists is among those who, while they stand clearly on one side or the other of the presently-divisive questions centering around sexuality, tend to congregate close enough to the center line that they can maintain relationship with those who are also close to the line, even if on the other side. Their relief and hope are grounded in the possibility that this emerging non-consent means that there are some channels where the mainstream of TEC will still not flow.

That may not at first look like a big deal, but it is. The liberal juggernaut of the last four decades has seemed like it respects no boundaries. So much of what was once unthinkable has become not only permissible but commonplace. The very notion that there is a commonly-respected fence, that it is indeed possible to wander too far afield theologically, is itself a bit of novelty, and feels like refreshing rain on a hot day. One may assert, as I myself would, that the Episcopal Church suffers from a massive case of collective amnesia. But the news from the Standing Committees hints at the possibility--a slim one, perhaps, but a real one nonetheless--that the memory loss is not total, and that a small piece of it has just been recovered. The market, as they say, has "found a bottom."

Grandfatherly Doting

Charlotte at nearly six months. Taken yesterday. The scraggly beard in the background is mine. A more beautiful little girl I cannot imagine. 

Sorry for the distraction. I'll get back to "serious" stuff in due course.

A Quick Read on the Miami Scandal

In my 35 years as an Episcopalian, I have known--and known of--several men who were ordained in the Roman Catholic Church and were later received into the Episcopal Church as priests. In every one of these instances, to my knowledge, Cupid was a major player, to the extent that, without his presence, the move wouldn't have happened. Every one.

Most of these clergy have served with competence, even distinction. A few have been problematic. At least three that I am aware of have "re-swum" the Tiber in the other direction (though, having left and then married, not been offered access to the Pastoral Provision). As one who is himself called to the vocation of marriage, I am unable to work up a high degree of empathy for what it might feel like to embrace a call to celibacy. Consequently, I have tended to have great sympathy and compassion for those who feel themselves called to both ordination and marriage, and glad, for their sakes, to be part of a church that allows them to respond to both vocations.

At one level, yesterday's announcement that Father Alberto Cutie (OK, I know my inability to put an accent on the final letter of his last name only accentuates the snicker quotient of the whole episode) has joined the Episcopal Church is just one more vessel in the familiar stream. (For the record, I am more than amply aware that there is a parallel stream flowing the other direction, though obviously for different reasons; I know my share of voyagers in that one as well.) 

Yet, there is an unsavory aura surrounding the news that I find quite unfortunate, and unsettling. Fr Cutie is a local celebrity in Miami. He is fluently bilingual and was a charismatic media figure on behalf of the Roman Catholic Church in south Florida, particularly among the Cuban-American community. At the press conference held at Trinity Cathedral on the occasion of his reception into TEC by Leo Frade, Bishop of Southeast Florida, he insisted that this was not a quick decision, but the result of a months-long discernment process. 

I have no knowledge, of course, of what is actually in the man's heart and mind. I'm going to assume that he's telling the truth. But he certainly has a PR problem with regard to his credibility. Few will doubt that the timing of his swim up the Thames to Canterbury was influenced, if not determined, by the tabloid photos that appeared barely a couple of weeks ago, showing him amorously involved with the woman who is now his fiance. 

Then there's the matter of the way he left the Roman obedience. It has the character not of a discerned transition, but a sudden defection. His now former bishop is understandably not amused, and has declared the incident a setback to ecumenical relations between the two involved churches. On a local level, at least, this can scarcely be doubted. Sadly, a high emotional level has led to a rhetorical shouting match between the respective bishops. In my opinion--this time not very humble--Bishop Frade has misplayed the hand he was dealt, not very subtly condemning the very notion of a rule of celibacy for clergy, and asserting Anglican practice in this regard as inherently superior. I'm more than happy to be in an ecclesial tradition that allows clerical marriage. But I do not consider myself either qualified or entitled to sit in judgment over another communion that, for reasons their leaders consider compelling, embrace a different discipline. The sort of exchange that has ensued between the two bishops is never salutary.

I wish Fr Cutie well in his new life as a married man, and--fairly soon, one presumes--as a priest in the Episcopal Church. I wish for him what I wish for any celebrity--that he be left alone by the media, both secular and religious. I also hope that both he and his new diocese resist any temptation to exploit this transition as an opportunity for Episcopal "evangelism" among his fan base. It is manifestly not that.

Holy Women, Holy Men

In preparation for tomorrow's meeting of the Northern Indiana deputation to the 76th General Convention of the Episcopal Church, I have just spent a good deal of time examining the report of the Standing Comission on Liturgy and Music. It consumes pp. 185-582 of the "Blue" Book's (it's actually maroon) 807 pages, effectively half of the total. The SCLM's magnum opus this time around is a thorough revision, mandated by convention in 2003, of the volume Lesser Feasts & Fasts, which contains appointed propers (collects, psalms, readings) for the days in the Prayer Book calendar that are designated for "optional observance"--that is, the "black letter" days listed in the calendar in regular typeface (the "red letter" days, non-optional, being indicated by boldface type). The sanctoral calendar, of course (which is to say, the "calendar of saints") is, like the lectionary, not technically part of the Book of Common Prayer (which requires two successive General Conventions to revise), even though bound with it, and has been added to regularly by the last several conventions. (More recent editions of LF&F have added eucharistic propers for ferial weekdays as well as Sundays and Holy Days.)

When the liturgy of the English Church was reconfigured in the 16th century, there was an understandable reaction to the proliferation of saints' days and the observance thereof in medieval society. Only the apostles and evangelists and a handful of others (all found in the New Testament) were spared the editors' scissors. It wasn't until the long run-up to what became the present Prayer Book that the idea of a re-expanded calendar was explored in a concrete way. The first edition of LF&F appeared as a trial use document in 1964, and contained essentially the same observances one can spy in a "vintage" edition of the 1979 BCP. The emphasis was on biblical figures (e.g. Timothy & Titus, Mary & Martha), patristic-era saints recognized by both East and West (e.g Chrysostom, Ignatius of Antioch), medieval saints well-established in western Christianity (e.g. Benedict, Francis), with a particular focus on those who figure in the history of the faith in Britain (e.g. Augustine of Canterbury, Anselm); prominent figures in post-Reformation England (e.g. Lancelot Andrewes, Richard Hooker), and, finally, leading lights in the history of the Episcopal Church (e.g. Samuel Seabury, William White). 

During the '80s and '90s, many complained that the inhabitants of the 1979 calendar were disproportionately male and disporportionately clerical. Subsequent additions have sought systematically to redress this perceived imbalance. Hence, we now observe (or are permitted to observe, at local option) days for the likes of Sojourner Truth, Florence Nightingale (both not male) and C. S. Lewis (not ordained), among many others. 

The proposed volume is no mere revision of Lesser Feasts & Fasts; it is a replacement. In this light, it may be apt that the SCLM proposes dropping the cutomary name and adopting Holy Women, Holy Men (taken from the text of a Latin hymn that appears in H1982 at 238/239). It is a bad news/good news saga. The good news (on balance) is that nobody was dropped from the calendar; some dates have been shifted around, and some who enjoyed their own days now have to share (Hugh of Lincoln and Robert Grosseteste), but everyone made the cut. The bad news is that there are--wait for it and count 'em--112 proposed additions! If you think this leaves very few "open" days in the calendar, you are absolutely correct. There are even a few double-ups, creating "choices" for local communities, so we are told. We are well on our way back toward the status quo ante to which Cranmer and his minions reacted.

There is, as well, some good news in the criteria enunciated by the SCLM for deciding who gets in to this select company. They are worth looking at in their entirety:

Principles of Revision

1. Historicity: Christianity is a radically historical religion, so in almost every instance it is not theological realities or spiritual movements but exemplary witness to the Gospel of Christ in lives actually lived that is commemorated in the Calendar.

2. Christian Discipleship: The death of the saints, precious in God’s sight, is the ultimate witness to the power of the Resurrection. What is being commemorated, therefore, is the completion in death of a particular Christian’s living out of the promises of baptism. Baptism is, therefore, a necessary prerequisite for inclusion in the Calendar.

3. Significance: Those commemorated should have been in their lifetime extraordinary, even heroic servants of God and God’s people for the sake, and after the example, of Jesus Christ. In this way they have testified to the Lordship of Christ over all of history, and continue to inspire us as we carry forward God’s mission in the world.

4. Memorability: The Calendar should include those who, through their devotion to Christ and their joyful and loving participation in the community of the faithful, deserve to be remembered by The Episcopal Church today. However, in order to celebrate the whole history of salvation, it is important also to include those “whose memory may have faded in the shifting fashions of public concern, but whose witness is deemed important to the life and mission of the Church” (Thomas Talley).

5. Range of Inclusion: Particular attention should be paid to Episcopalians and other members of the Anglican Communion. Attention should also be paid to gender and race, to the inclusion of lay people (witnessing in this way to our baptismal understanding of the Church), and to ecumenical representation. In this way the Calendar will reflect the reality of our time: that instant communication and extensive travel are leading to an ever deeper international and ecumenical consciousness among Christian people.

6. Local Observance: Similarly, it should normatively be the case that significant commemoration of a particular person already exists at the local and regional levels before that person is included in the Calendar of the Episcopal Church as a whole.

7. Perspective: It should normatively be the case that a person be included in the Calendar only after two generations or fifty years have elapsed since that person’s death.

8. Levels of Commemoration: Principal Feasts, Sundays and Holy Days have primacy of place in the Church’s liturgical observance. It does not seem appropriate to distinguish between the various other commemorations by regarding some as having either a greater or a lesser claim on our observance of them. Each commemoration should be given equal weight as far as the provision of liturgical propers is concerned (including the listing of three lessons).

9. Combined Commemorations: Not all those included in the Calendar need to be commemorated “in isolation.” Where there are close and natural links between persons to be remembered, a joint commemoration would make excellent sense (e.g., the Reformation martyrs—Latimer and Ridley; bishops of Lincoln, Robert Grosseteste and Hugh).

This is, IMHO, a reasonable and well-thought out approach, though I might quibble with a point here or there. It clearly intends (or seems to, at any rate), t0 hold up for honor men and women who are examples of heroic holiness and consecrated living as intentional Christian disciples, examples that are worthy of recognition by the whole church. 

If only they had followed their own guidelines. Alas, they did not. So it's back to "bad news." What we have, in effect, is a roll that includes many people who are merely famous (or, more accurately, people who some think should be famous) based on signal accomplishments during their lives. So we have Copernicus and Kepler, Bach and Handel (along with Byrd and Tallis), John Muir (the naturalist closely associated with Yosemite), Durer (along with Grunwald and Cranach), Harriet Beecher Stowe, Christina Rosetti (the poet), and (for the top prize in implausibility) "William Mayo and Charles Menninger and Their Sons, Pioneers in Medicine". 

This is ... well ... embarrassing. But there's more. We are poised to canonize people who haven't even been raised to that status by the church they were part of in this world, like Pope John XXIII and Pierre Tielhard de Chardin. We are a church on brink of honoring the heroic Christian witness of people who with great intentionality left the church that now endeavors to so honor them, and did so because they felt compelled by their Christian conscience--Elizabeth Ann Seton, John Henry Newman, G. K. Chesterton (to say nothing of Francis Asbury!). And then there are those who never were Episcopalian or Anglican, and because of their evangelical convictions, would probably find it odd to now be asked to "come up higher"--the missionaries William Carey and Adoniram Judson come to mind. 

And are we really now to have a "saint's day" set aside for John Calvin? (What about Oliver Cromwell?) Karl Barth? Walter Rauchenbush? 

Alas, poor old and oft-maligned Charles Stuart, the only person actually canonized by the Church of England, still didn't make the team, despite the earnest prayers of the Society of St Charles, King & Martyr. But welcome back to St George, despite the fact that the Romans cut him loose for being of doubtful historicity. And surely somebody will rejoice that Kierkegaard is now a saint. 

And, despite the SCLM's averred intent to include only baptized persons, one slipped through the net: the Jewish chaplain who went down with his Christian (all non-Anglican) companions on the Dorchester after giving away their life vests. (Lt. Goode is eminently worthy of being remembered and honored, just not perhaps in a Christian calendar of saints.)

I fear we are making utter fools of ourselves, turning the sanctoral calendar into a flatbed truck to carry the freight of our collective neurotic guilt, trying desperately to demonstrate our inclusivity to an ecumenical community that will just chuckle softly as they shake their heads in bemused bewilderment. 

The silver lining is that some real worthies actually did get in: Joan of Arc, St Cecilia, Margery Kempe, Charles Grafton (I Bishop of Fond du Lac), Innocent of Alaska. But why not some of the 19th century London "slum priests": Charles Lowder, Alexander Mackonohie, inter alia--now these were some exemplars of heroic witness and sanctity)?

But I've saved the worst for last. Aside from the obvious deficiencies in the proposed revision to our calendar, there is a Trojan Horse in the mix. Holy Women, Holy Men is being used as a vehicle to promote elements of a radical liturgical language agenda (as has every other publication of the SCLM for most of the last three decades). From earliest times, formal Christian prayer has normatively concluded per dominum Jesum Christum--through Jesus Christ our Lord. Not exclusively, but normatively. More recently, however, the use of the word "Lord" has been deemed suspect because of percieved patriarchal connotations, and there has been a steady pressure to subvert the long-standing norm. Indeed, this is one of the motivating concerns that underlies the entire project known as Enriching Our Worship. 

Since there are 112 new observance proposed for the calendar, this means that there are 112 new collects that have been written. Of this number, how many include the formua "through Jesus Christ our Lord"? 

Exactly two.

The rest either substitute something like Savior (the most common by far), or Redeemer, or Good Shepherd, or simply nothing (as in "through Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns...). 

This is infinitely more important than any concern about who made the list or who got left off. The fundamental (and earliest) Christian creed consists simply of two Greek words which take three English words to translate: Jesus is Lord. It's not an option, one alternative among many. It's not a metaphor, one image among many. It is a basic Christian confession. If you can't make that confession, full-throatedly and with uncrossed fingers, you can't be a Christian. So there's nothing particularly wrong on this account with any single given collect of the 112 proposed additional observances. It's the trend that is cause for alarm. It bespeaks a church that talks a good talk about its theological moorings in Catholic Christianity, but is in the process of weighing anchor, throwing the rope back on the dock, and drifting out on the tide of distorted perceptions of oppressive language. 

Morever, the SCLM needs to be called on their subversive tactics. For decades now they've just been sneaking in this Trojan Horse under the guise of other agendas--this time the calendar (as well as pastoral rites for issues surrounding pregnancy and childbirth, which I'm not dealing with in this post). People are naturally curious about the "presented" topic, and the "akyrial" (did I just coin a Greek word?) theology in the proposed prayers doesn't register on their screens. It would be much healthier to have the discussion about liturgical language out in the open, as its own topic, rather than just sneak it in covertly. 

Those who have the ability to rake muck, now's the time.

Taking On a New Look

This blog will be three years old in September (that's veritably ancient in "blog years"). As a matter of personal preference when I'm looking at a screen, I will usually opt for a dark background and light characters; hence, the format that you remember if this is not your first visit here. But I've received a fair number of complaints over time from people who use tools other than Blogger's default interface when, for purposes like setting off quoted text, I use colored letters that don't show up so well on light backgrounds. So you might say I'm bowing to popular demand. It's time for a change anyway.

My relative paucity of posting of late is certainly no indicator of a lack of material that I feel moved to comment on. Quite the opposite is, in fact, the case. But I have, as they say, a "day job," and on top of that, a "life." It frustrates me, because blogging is the only thing that comes close to what you could call a hobby for me. 

Anyway, here are some items that are presently gelling in the recesses of my gray matter, and which will doubtless show up in due course:

• "Holy Women, Holy Men"--the magnum opus of the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music, available exclusively in a Blue Book near you. What are we about to do to the concept of sainthood? and is there a Trojan Horse in the neighborhood?
• Are Episcopalians bored with the Book of Common Prayer? Judging from how we actually worship, that's the only conclusion one can come to.
• Speaking of the BCP, is there a chance that the 1979 eucharistic lectionary may yet have new life breathed back into it? Looking at the clearly not-ready-for-primetime Revised Common Lectionary, one surely hopes so.
• Is the Anglican Covenant text really destined to be a non-issue in Anaheim in July? (Rumor has it that the plenary sessions of General Convention will actually take place in Fantasyland.)

Let me get to percolatin' on this stuff. I can tell you can't wait.

A Deposit of Hope

After a week in Louisiana (at a CREDO II conference), I spent a few hours at home (most of them sleeping), about 90 minutes touching base with my staff in the parish office, then drove about 200 miles northwest to my seminary alma mater, Nashotah House. The occasion was Alumni Day and Commencement, with special festivities among the members of my class (1989), seeing as how it's the twentieth anniversary of our graduation. There were about thirty of us who graduated together, out of which ten showed up for the reunion, four with spouses in tow--actually, not a bad percentage.

It was, on the whole, an energizing and joyful experience. The sheer fun of re-connecting with people with whom we shared a peculiarly intense and formative period of our lives was life-giving. It also reminded us, by contrast, of the dimension of loneliness that is endemic to the pastoral vocation, not for lack of people willing to cheerfully populate our lives, but because we serve those people poorly if we do not maintain the appropriate sorts of boundaries in our relationships with them. It was refreshing to be among peers with whom there is simultaneously the presence of a high degree of mutual empathy and the absence of a need to maintain strong fences.

And this is to say nothing of the transcendent beauty of the seminary grounds; they are luminous in an almost mystical sort of way. One of my "take aways" from the CREDO conference was an awareness of how oriented I am to place, and how nourishing it is to my soul to be able to visit the venues of my various "pasts." In a very concrete way, it keeps the fabric of my life stitched together.

Nashotah House is an interesting place these days, in many ways. I can't think of another institution that has as much of a stake in the unfolding (and eventual outcome) of the Anglican soap opera as Nashotah. It lives right on the fault line. When I matriculated in 1986 as part of a relatively large class (which I don't think has yet been equalled in size), one of us was Moravian, and two of us were Canadian Anglicans. The class two years ahead of us had one member who was African and one from Hong Kong (or was is Taiwan? I forget.). The class two years behind us included a Lutheran. Everyone else was a member of the Episcopal Church. Over the years, the percentage of African students has increased, as has the number of Americans who are members of "extra-mural" Anglican bodies. Still, as recently as a year ago, the clear majority of students and faculty were Episcopalian. But with the departure of the dioceses of Fort Worth, Quincy, and Pittsburgh, the balance may well have shifted.

This was made poignantly clear in the Prayers of the People during the Alumni Day Mass. Every day, the Nashotah community prays aloud by name for about a half dozen of its alumni and benefactors, on a rota determined by alphabetical order. On this particular day, the list included both the Bishop of Fort Worth (Southern Cone), who was present in the congregation, and the rector of one of the parishes that has elected to remain in TEC, and is therefore presently suing said bishop. In what other context than the celebration of the Eucharist could such an anomaly even be countenanced, let alone treated as quite routine? 

Later that day, I was honored to be part of a panel discussion that also included the Suffragan Bishop of Dallas, the Bishop of Fort Worth, and one of his priests (this time one who is accompanying him on the journey to wherever it is they are going). In the audience were some quite "mainstream" Episcopal bishops and clergy, some part of the "realignment," and some who have left Anglicanism altogether and "swum the Tiber." Among the graduating seniors present were some who were being deployed to Episcopal congregations, and some going to extra-mural Anglican parishes. Yet, in spite of these apparent tensions, I have to say, there was a spirit of underlying unity and charity that was, all things considered, quite remarkable. 

The next day, we gathered in the newly-constructed (and quite lovely) Roman Catholic parish church of St Jerome for Commencement and Mass. The liturgy was at the same time solemn and festive, dignified and joyful. One of those in the congregation was a member of the Class of 1999, now a former Episcopal priest and a lay member of that very parish (soon to avail himself of the Pastoral Provision). The preacher, who did a splendid job, was none other than Dr James I. Packer, a scholar and teacher who is in fact an Anglican priest but is more widely known and revered in the wider evangelical world than within Anglicanism. (He's probably still choking on the incense!) Dr Packer also has the distinction of having been recently (and, apparently, without effect) deposed from the ordained ministry by the Bishop of New Westminster (Anglican Church of Canada). Once again, despite cracks in our koinonia that perhaps ought to have utterly dessicated the spirit of the gathering, there was a palpable sense of unity in that eucharistic assembly.

I'm not entirely clear on what any of this means. But I have no intention of surrendering its value as a sign--a sign to me, at least, if to no one else--that there are more chapters to this story, that we know less of it than we think we do, that it's possible for Anglican Christians who have deeply divergent perspectives to be not only civil toward one another, but to outdo on another in showing love, that it is possible, in fact to "walk apart together." I am proud of the larger Nashotah community for allowing itself, even if unwittingly, to be such a hopeful sign.

Mining the Silver Lining

(As it turns out, I've scrounged a bit of free time here at the end of my CREDO conference to rummage through the blogsphere and pull together some quick preliminary thoughts.)

By any account, the outcome of yesterday's debate in the Anglican Consultative Council regarding the Cambridge-Ridley draft of the proposed Anglican Covenant is a setback to those who have held out hope for an organic communion-based resolution to the Anglican turmoil of the last several years. I am personally disheartened by the (close) vote to delay commending the document as a finished product and place the most critical portion of the text--Section IV--in the hands of the one group within the infrastructure of the communion that is most dominated western liberals--the Joint Standing Committee of the Primates' Meeting and the Anglican Consultative Council. It is not unreasonable to suspect that they will eviscerate the document and render it substantially toothless. I would hesitate to label this development as "tragic," but it is certainly profoundly sad.

But all is not yet lost, and we must not lose sight of that fact. The ACC resolution on the report of the Windsor Continuation Group is, taken on its face, most encouraging. Rather than merely "receiving" the WCG report, the ACC "affirms" it. Effectively, this makes every word of the WCG report the stated position of the Anglican Consultative Council, which is the closest thing the communion has to a synodical body. 

This is not trifling or petty. The WCG (and now the ACC) has reaffirmed the imperative of maintaining moratoria on the consecration of bishops living in same-sex unions and the celebration of rites of blessing for such unions. Any abrogation of B-033 is specifically named as a potentially problematic development. The Pastoral Forum and Pastoral Visitors plan proposed by the WCG is effectively a framework for the implementation of the recommendations of the Primates in their 2007 Dar es Salaam communique, which has been too-long ignored. The WCG (and, hence, now the ACC) approvingly quotes the Covenant Design Group to the effect that "a covenant without consequences is, by definition, not a covenant at all, but an empty word." 

So, while yesterday was a blow, and there is some wound-licking to be done (my own resolution submitted to General Convention would seem to be now effectively moot), those who are committed to an organic solution based on communion with Canterbury can take valid consolation from this week's events in Jamaica.

Incommunicado (relatively)

Just for the curious, I am "leavin' on a jet plane" very early Monday morning for a conference center in Louisiana, north of New Orleans. This is a CREDO (CREDO II, to be precise) conference--a sort of personal and professional development experience for Episcopal clergy. I'll be gone a week, and while I expect to have wi-fi access, my time available for attention to cyberspace will be severely limited. I realize there are some questions posed in the comment threads of recent posts to which I would ordinarily be given to respond. I cannot do so for a while. Please be patient.

On Sin & Blessability, etc.

Yesterday was a more-active-than-usual day for me on the HoB/D, and it seems worthwhile to share my own contributions to a thread about the perrennial bugaboo of sexuality:

To address xxx's question: (If a same-sex couple from your diocese came to Connecticut and got legally married, could either person (or both) then return home and serve at the altar in your diocese?)

Not being the bishop of my diocese (for which legions give thanks), I cannot give a definitive answer.

Were I the bishop, I don't know that their partnered status prior to their brief Connecticut sojourn would have prevented them from serving at the altar (in either a licensed or non-licensed lay capacity) in the first place. So whatever took place in CT would not change that. That's just my personal view. I realize it may be a little more "progressive" than the policy of the Diocese of Dallas. But before you pop the champagne cork: Again, were I the bishop, either status would yield a presumptive negative answer to any question of discernment for ordination. Nor would there be any question of celebrating or blessing whatever may have taken place in CT. The point is, while I support extending the sort of legal "rights and privileges" of marriage to any two consenting adults who might want them, I continue to hold the presently unpopular (on this listserv, at any rate) view that marriage inherently is something, and is not simply a social construct that can be whatever a societal consensus might support, and that that "thing" that marriage is precludes the use of the word to denote a relationship between two persons of the same sex, as much as such relationships might look or feel or work like or otherwise resemble marriage, and even as much as any given such relationship might display the attributes of Christian marriage as well or better than any given actual marriage. Not everything that quacks and waddles is a duck. 

Someone asked me to elaborate, and this was my reply:

This is an attempt to respond to xxx's question upstream. I do so with trepidation, aware that this listserv has a low flash point, and my best attempt at "cool" communication will no doubt be offensive to some. Nonetheless, I will take the risk, because the question as hand is important.

When I mention "attributes of Christian marriage", I am thinking of the "Dearly beloved..." speech in the Prayer Book. And in the context of relationships that (I would contend) are not marriage exhibiting these characteristics, I'm thinking specifically of "mutual joy" and "help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity." I am certainly in no position to deny the testimony of those partners in same-sex relationships that they experience these things in their relationships. And I rejoice in that. "Mutual joy" and "help and comfort" are good things, blessings that I would wish on everyone. As to whether the presence of such qualities is a presumptive sign of the overt presence of the Holy Spirit, I do not consider myself qualified to say, and I am terminally suspicious of anyone who claims to be so qualified. 

I understand that this might strike some as either incoherent or inconsistent (or both!). I'm tentative about this, but the sum of my experience and reflection has brought me to a place where, at present, I can acknowledge the presence of goodness and health even in the larger context of sin and disease. For instance, the fact that an adulterous affair is "inherently sinful" (probably no argument from anyone in the room on that, I suspect) does not negate the reality that it can mediate joy and life to those who participate in it. Distorted joy and life, no doubt, but joy and life nonetheless. But recognizing the presence of good things (joy and life) in the midst of a bad thing (an adulterous affair) does not make the bad thing good--i.e. does not therefore make it merit a blessing.

Now, as to "inherently sinful"-- Yes, if pressed (which is to say, this isn't the first thing I would say on the subject), my understanding of the Christian moral tradition and enduring consensus is that sexual activity outside the context of marriage between one man and one woman is "inherently sinful." Many of our problems in discourse arise, however, when "sinful" is automatically equated with "overtly and fully evil," such that two teenagers getting carried away after prom is equated with genocide (at a visceral level, at any rate). I have found it helpful to keep coming back to the Greek root of sin as harmartia--literally, falling short of the mark. An arrow can be aimed in the right direction, but fall short. My intuitive hunch is that a merciful God is pleased when our arrows are aimed in the right direction even when they fall short. He encourages us and says, "Good try. Keep it up. You'll get there." But he does not unqualifiedly bless our efforts as if we had hit the target. And neither can we bless our own efforts that don't hit the target, even if they are aimed in the right direction.

And why do I insist that sexual relationships outside of (heterosexual) marriage fall short of the target? This brings us back around to the "Dearly beloved..." speech. In addition to the characteristic of marriage that I already mentioned above, the Prayer Book rite talks about "the bond and covenant of marriage [that] was established by God in creation," a relationship that "signifies to us the union between Christ and his Church." The allusion to "creation" removes marriage from the category of a merely human social institution that human society is at liberty to reconfigure at will. The imagery borrowed from Ephesians 5 is nothing other than a "boy meets girl, boy loves girl, boy loses girl, boy rescues girl" narrative. (It's not for no reason that the Church has always been referenced by feminine pronouns.) Indeed, the entire meta-narrative of Scripture, from Genesis to Revelation, is speckled with nuptial imagery as a metaphor for the divine-human relationship. 

Finally, there is the procreative purpose of marriage: "...for the procreation of children, and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord." Procreation is certainly not the sole purpose of either marriage in particular or sexual relations in general. There are childless marriages and there is non-procreative sex. But we delude ourselves (IMO), and do so at our collective peril, if we think we can totally isolate marriage and sex from procreation. Intercourse in marriage "looks like" an act that has the potential to create a child--it is a sign of fruitfulness--even when there are obvious reasons that any given act will not do so, and even when measures are taken to ensure that it will not do so. It is a reminder that neither sex nor marriage are "all about" the participants. They are sign-laden channels of connection with the mysterious tapestry of God's re-weaving of the torn fabric of creation. When we think anything less of them, we get into trouble.

I don't expect to persuade anyone of anything by all of this, but I thought xxx's questions deserved a thoughtful response.

- Show quoted text -

Christ the (Only?) Way

The exclusivist claims of Christianity are a subject of ongoing debate both within the Church and outside it. When President Ford was buried from the National Cathedral a while back and the traditional funeral gospel reading from John 14 omitted the concluding phrase, "No one comes to the Father but by me," that omission did not go unnoticed either by those who were inclined to applaud it or by those who were scandalized by it. The recent deposition of an Episcopal priest who also professed Islam, and the bishop-elect who also walks the way of Zen Buddhism, have kept the issue on center stage.

With Good Shepherd Sunday coming up, I ran across this from the late Anglican New Testament scholar Reginald Fuller in his homiletical notes on John 10:11-18 for the Fourth Sunday of Easter (from Preaching the Lectionary, 1984). It speaks to the question cogently:

(Referring to Article XXVII of the Church of England, Of Obtaining Salvation Only by the Name of Christ) In modern words, this article condemns the view  that it is good to have a religion but it doesn't matter which one. The biblical exclusiveness that underlies the mission of the Church can be linked with ... the parable of the sheep and the shepherd: "I have other sheep that are not of this fold; I must bring them also, and they will heed my voice. So there shall be one flock, one shepherd." Perhaps, too, the "wolves" against which the good shepherd defends his flock are those broad-minded Christians today who hold that salvation is through any religion, not through Christ alone. This is exclusive claim is made because only Christ has been raised from the dead. Only he has passed through death to our final destiny, and therefore we can attain our final salvation only through him.

Hmmm

I didn't make this up. It's from here.

And there's no such word as "coronated." No wonder newspapers are losing circulation.

I know, but...

Results in the consent process for the election of Kevin Thew Forrester as Bishop of Northern Michigan are beginning appear at a stepped-up pace. This one raised my pulse and took my breath away. 

But the standing committee of the Diocese of San Joaquin has decided to approve the election of the Rev. Kevin G. Thew Forrester. Among those present for the April 18 vote, the vote was unanimous, according to the standing committee’s Cindy Smith.“We reviewed various articles and opinions by different people and we weighed those and we felt that we wanted to give our consent” after giving the issue “careful consideration,” Smith said.

Of course, I know it's the faux Diocese of San Joaquin that is making this announcement. I'm well aware of that cognitively. But at a visceral level, I can barely keep my composure while merely reading the words. Especially in the light of so many certifiably "progressive" bishops and Standing Committees already having registed in the Nay column, this is just further proof that the detritus left behind in the wake of the (lamentable) departure of the real diocese is not just a group of "mere" Episcopalians, but ... well, I probably shouldn't write what I'm thinking.

A Resolution on the Anglican Covenant

I am pleased to have been able to submit the following resolution to the General Convention office this afternoon. Co-sponsors are Dr Christopher Wells, also of Northern Indiana, and the Revd Bruce Robison of the Diocese of Pittsburgh.

TITLE: Provisional Acceptance of the Anglican Covenant

Resolved, the House of _____________ concurring, that this 76th General Convention of the Episcopal Church make a provisional commitment to abide by the terms of the Anglican Covenant proposed in the most recent text of the Covenant Design Group (the “Cambridge-Ridley” draft); and be it further

Resolved, that the text of the proposed covenant be commended to the various dioceses of this church for study and comment during the coming triennium; and be it further

Resolved, that the Presiding Bishop and the President of the House of Deputies appoint a Special Task Force to determine what constitutional and/or canonical measures may be necessary in order to make a permanent commitment to the Covenant; and be it further

Resolved, that this Special Task Force prepare a report to the 77th General Convention of the Episcopal Church that includes draft legislation that could be considered should the convention decide to make a permanent commitment to the Covenant.


EXPLANATION
The 75th General Convention passed resolution A166, which supports the participation of the Episcopal Church in the development of an Anglican Covenant. Since then, the Covenant Design Group has produced several drafts, culminating in what the members of the CDG believe is the final product of their work, the Cambridge-Ridley Draft.

The 75th General Convention also passed resolution A159, which affirms not only our commitment to interdependence in the Anglican Communion, but a desire to live in “the highest degree of communion possible.” The same convention also passed resolution A160, which offers an apology that “our failure to accord sufficient importance to the impact of our actions on our
church and other parts of the Communion” has “strained the bonds of affection” between the provinces of the Communion.

Since 2006, these strains have only grown more severe. Given our share in their creation, and in keeping with our long-held ecumenical position that for the greater good of the larger Church’s unity, “this Church is ready in the spirit of love and humility to forego all preferences of her own,” and as a sign of good faith toward our sisters and brothers across the Communion, it seems appropriate that we voluntarily and temporarily agree to order our life according to the terms of the Cambridge-Ridley Draft until such time as we can ascertain the level of its acceptance by other churches, and consider more fully the nature of our identity as a constituent member of the Anglican Communion of churches.

Calling All Software Engineers

This has been a more-significant-than-average day in the Anglican blogsphere. But the honest-to-God truth is that I haven't got anything to say about it that hasn't already been said, either by me or someone else. Go here for the details if you tend to hang out under a rock.

So, instead of engaging in redundant punditry, I'm going to indulge in a technology rant. 

Some background: Roughly fifteen years ago I graduated from pocket calendars and crude to-do lists scribbled on scratch paper to what was then called the Franklin Planner. My version was contained in a large seven-ring leather binder. It was quite handsome and I was very fond of it. There was a page for every day, with room for appointments, notes, and a task list that was governed by some fairly sophisticated principles for establishing priorities. My life was all but literally in that binder, and the loss of it would have constituted a major trauma.

In mid-2001, I acquired my first laptop computer and a PDA (yes, a Palm Pilot), and made the leap to paperless planning. By this time, Franklin had merged with Stephen Covey's operation (he of Seven Habits fame), and I purchased their software that more or less emulated the functionality of the leather binder that I then discarded. But my laptop came loaded with Microsoft Outlook, which I found very attractive, the only downside being that Outlook's task management tools are not amenable to the Franklin process to which I had become accustomed (addicted?). So I was shortly thereafter delighted to discover that Franklin Covey had developed add-on software that attaches itself to Outlook and delivers familiar Franklin Covey tooks in an Outlook environment. I was sold.

For the most part, this worked very well for me. The only glitch was that the marriage between the two was randomly unstable and they would stop talking to one another. This could always be fixed, but it involved a phone call to FC tech support and those experiences are never fun. 

Then, about a year and half ago, I moved to an office with a network governed by a Microsoft Exchange Server, and my life has never been the same. The pissing contests between Outlook and FC became more frequent and more difficult to solve. Every time there was a crash, I told myself that there must be a betteer way ... an Outlook-free way ... a Microsoft-free way. Once I downloaded a free trial of FC's stand alone planning software. The only thing I didn't like about it was the lack of an integrated email client (I was at that time not on friendly terms with Gmail's user interface), but I downloaded Thunderbird and loved it to death. But the big monkey wrench was that FC's software would not sync with the particular kind of Palm Treo (running Windows Mobile, ironically) smartphone that I have. Once again, reluctantly back to Outlook wit the FC add-on.

So ... when I fired up the present laptop (a seven month-old Dell Studio) on Easter Tuesday after being away from it for about 36 hours, Outlook would not launch. There was a corrupt file with the extension .ost--these have to do with the process of syncing with the MS Exchange Server so I can use Outlook when I'm not connected to the office network. I won't even go into the arcane turbidity of the Inbox Repair Tool and its minion of demons. It took two visits from our (Microsoft-certified) IT consultant (we pay a retainer for a certain number of hours, which we've almost used up for the year) to just locate the damn thing in Windows Explorer. Once found, it was easily expunged. Problem solved. Outlook is back up and, for the moment, on good terms with Franklin Covey.

But in the meantime I have spent an inordinate amount of time once again investigating alternatives. It rather amazes me that there doesn't seem to be one--nothing, at least, that replicates the range of functionality that my present arrangement provides ... when it's all working. So here's what I'd like to see. Somebody else will have to do the heavy lifting, because I don't know a line of code from a clothes line. But I'm willing to pay for a licensed copy of an application that will have the following features:

• A calendar with a "look and feel" that is comparable to Outlook's, with an ability to color-code events in several different ways. (I like to show Sundays and feast days in their proper liturgical colors, quickly see occasions that take me out of town, and appointments that are purely personal.)
• Task management tools that are more than just a re-arrangeable To-Do list. Like in Outlook, I need to be able to assign both start dates and due dates. I'm not married to Franklin Covey's precise prioritizing features, but there needs to be someting comparable that allows me to break big tasks down into smaller ones, rank them precisely by relative importance, and then move them around using "drag & drop" to various start dates on a calendar. And while I'm at it, the ability to link a task to a particular document file would be very cool.
• An integrated email client would be nice, but I have to say that gmail's interface is growing on me. I especially like the way it groups messages into "conversations," and I love its search abilities. So these features would need to be built in to any email client.
• The ability to import my Outlook database would be critically important. 
• I am not in principle opposed to a web-based application (Franklin Covey has one, but its interface is too drab and hard to read to excite me), but there would need to be some way to work offline in some limited way during those inevitable times when the internet connection fails or is too slow.
• I haven't yet thought through the handheld piece of this puzzle. I'm not currently paying for a data plan on my phone, so I rely on the ability to sync between laptop and PDA. But once I figure out which wireless company has a decent signal in my house (Verizon doesn't), I'll probably be ready to spring for a data plan.

So have at it, all you geeks. Let me know when yoo've got something to beta-test.

Notes Toward a Comprehensive Theory of Church Music

One of these days—not in my lifetime, perhaps, but eventually—sex and gender will cease to be the chief presenting issues in ecclesiastical wrangling. But there will always be music to argue about. Even today, a few fortunate congregations are untouched by the sexuality wars that rage above them. But virtually none can escape some degree of tension and ferment over what music should be used in the practice of corporate worship, who should perform it, and how it should be performed.

Music has been integrally associated with Christian worship from earliest times. And it has always generated tension. St Augustine experienced this tension within his own soul:

Thus I float between the peril of pleasure and an approved profitable custom: inclined to more (though herein I pronounce no irrevocable opinion) to allow of the old usage of singing in the Church; that so by the delight taken in at the ear, the weaker minds be roused up into some feeling of devotion. And yet again, so oft as it befalls me to be more moved with the voice than with the ditty, I confess myself to have grievously offended; at which time I wish rather not to have heard the music. (From Confessions)

One dimension of this tension concerns the delicate dance between liturgy qua liturgy, and music qua music. Liturgy is dependent on music (even though many western Christians regularly participate in “low Mass”—a celebration of the Eucharist sans music—this is a generic anomaly, and would wither without a connection to its normative template, the Sung Mass). But music is a veritable “force of nature,” and will always seek to take the lead position in the dance if it is allowed to.

Consequently, we see a cyclic pattern in history: Liturgical music, which begins as simple chant or song, very much “owned” by the assembly and its presider, grows little by little more complex, to the point where it becomes a high art form with a life of its own, reserved for skilled specialists, who perform while the main body of the assembly is mute. The music might also become so lengthy that it eclipses the texts and actions of the liturgy, and requires such logistical infrastructure (e.g. an orchestra) that it comes to dominate the liturgical space. 

When this happens, the liturgy eventually strikes back, and there is draconian reform. In the late 16^th century, Pope Marcellus floated the idea of banning polyphony (singing in harmony) in church, reverting to pure chant. The composer Giovanni Perluigi da Palestrina responded with his Missa Papae Marcelli (now considered a choral classic), intended to demonstrate that polyphony need not outshine the liturgical action. In that same era, at the back end of the Reformation, the emerging Protestant liturgical traditions all featured a musical idiom that was simpler and more participatory than anything in the Roman church. In England, we can see this in John Merbecke’s setting of the Prayer Book texts for Holy Communion (a setting still in widespread use), according to the principle of one syllable per note, and for every note a syllable. We can even see the tension expressed in the works of a single composer: William Byrd’s settings of Latin texts are fully contrapuntal (independent voice lines not always singing the same syllable at the same time) while his settings of the Prayer Book service are largely homophonic (hymn-like, a succession of chords in which all the voice parts sing the same words at the same time). Much later, in1903, Pope Pius X once again attempted to reform and simplify the music of the Latin Rite in his Motu Proprio on Sacred Music, this time in reaction to the mammoth choral and orchestral Masses and Requiems of composers like Verdi and Berlioz.

In the early 21^st century, this ongoing dynamic of gradually increasing musical complication leading to reactive simplifying reform still looms over our various liturgical landscapes. But we are usually too close to the ground to put our experience into this larger context. Rather, at the moment, we tend to draw battle lines in the “worship wars” pitting various classical traditions (represented by organs, hymnals, and SATB choirs singing from anthem folios) against the “contemporary” stream (represented by texts projected on screens and “Praise Bands” singing from lead sheets). It may be tempting, but is too facile, to equate the “classical” strain with the tendency toward complication and “professionalization” of church music, and the “contemporary” strain with the reformist impulse. Reality is not so simple. There are multiple examples of liturgical music in the classical tradition that is accessible, sturdy, and meant to be sung by a congregation without formal musical training. There are also plenty of instances of “praise and worship” music that is clearly more at home on the lips of the rehearsed “Praise Team” members than on those of the general congregation.

Actually, before we can begin to fruitfully sort out the issues relative to musical style, we need to tame the beast that is Music itself—i.e. the medium that will never stop trying to become the message. We need to face the dilemma articulated by Bishop Augustine so long ago. And in order to do so, we (meaning all who are entrusted with liturgical leadership) need to screw up our collective courage and embrace a sort of Prime Directive (in the Star Trek sense of that term), which might be something like: Let the Liturgy be the Liturgy.  This is to say, music (like tradition), is a wonderful servant but a horrible master.

The Eucharistic liturgy of the Church, both East and West, has a discernible shape, rhythm, and flow. Dom Gregory Dix may be in a sort of scholarly Purgatory at the moment, but we nonetheless all owe him a debt of gratitude for helping us see this shape, rhythm, and flow more clearly. This is the infrastructure through which the liturgy accomplishes its work—doxologically, catechetically, homiletically, sacramentally, and eschatologically. Anything we bring to the liturgy by way of adornment, enhancement, contextualization, vestments, ceremonial, music—whatever—anything we bring to the liturgy must serve the liturgy’s own ends and not introduce some other agenda. The duty of liturgical music, in particular, is to serve these ends by revealing, clarifying, and highlighting the liturgy’s inherent shape, rhythm, and flow.

As soon as music calls attention to itself, to the extent that liturgical song—be it “folk art” or “refined art”—says, “Hey, look at me!” it immediately becomes an alien and an interloper. When that happens, the liturgy has been hijacked and turned into a flatbed truck. Back in the ‘60s and ‘70s of the last century, the Eucharist was often hijacked to carry the freight of social protest, with spontaneous Masses being celebrated in front of government buildings and defense plants.  But musicians of all stripes are probably the worst offenders here. I can recall a conversation with another church musician more than thirty years ago where we looked at the Christmas Eve Midnight Mass as little more than a vehicle on which we could load as many jewels of the Anglican choral tradition (which, just for the record, I believe is magnificent) as possible. More recently, I have had similar conversations with “contemporary” musicians who simply want to load different freight on the same truck. Both sorts of musician ask all kinds of important questions, like “What would most please the congregation (or celebrant, or bishop, or visiting dignitary)?”, “What will keep the choir/praise band happy?”, and “What can we do well with the resources at our disposal?” These are all good questions—even necessary. They’re just not the “one thing needful.” Unfortunately, the most important question in planning liturgical music is the one that too often never gets asked: “What music will best serve the needs of this particular celebration on this particular day with this particular congregation at this particular point in the service?” The question pastoral musicians (one bit of contemporary Roman Catholic parlance that I find quite helpful) need to be asking of the liturgy is not, “How can you help me accomplish my pastoral goals?” but “How can I best serve you today?”

But even after we’ve parked the flatbed truck for a long rest in the liturgical garage, there’s still another substantial issue to deal with before we can presume to calm the worship wars, and this is equally true for those on both sides of the battlefield. I’m talking about the fact that we invariably ask people to sing in church (except at those anomalous Low Masses), but church is increasingly the only place where that request is made. I think it is arguable that there is presently no vibrant (or even living) American folk music (in the sense of a genre and repertoire in which most people can readily participate) tradition. We are culturally bereft. Think about it: In movies from fifty and sixty years ago—I’m not talking about musicals, but straight dramas and comedies—it was not implausible for there to be a scene of spontaneous singing (often with someone playing the piano, also a dying skill). Aside from stylistic conventions, such a scene would be literally incredible in a film set in today’s culture.

It's not that music isn’t important to people—quite the contrary; witness the explosion of iPod sales in the last decade, and the growing dependence on having “my music” available 24/7. But “my music” is something I passively receive, and not something I’m likely to get together with friends and attempt to spontaneously replicate. And if I’m at all inclined to do so, it’s probably with the assistance of karaoke equipment. We may even be at the point where recorded music has become the norm and live performance the aberration—not only in bars but at weddings and funerals. (The culprits are probably legion; my candidate is the steady erosion of music education in the public schools.)

So, while in the relatively recent past, singing in church was a speciation of an activity in which people were likely to also participate in other contexts, it is now a thing-unto-itself, and an increasingly alien thing at that. This realization not only complicates the job of a pastoral musician; it is a potential game-changer in the worship wars because it suggests that both sides are fighting a losing battle. Those attached to the classical tradition (a company in which I can readily number myself) already know that. When I go to an orchestra concert, the proportion of gray heads to youth is about as alarming as it is in the typical Episcopal congregation on a Sunday morning. And when I bring up the rear of the procession into and out of a Sunday sung liturgy, the tendency to not even crack a hymnal—let along attempt to sing—is inversely proportional to advancement in years. But this doesn’t mean that those attached to the “contemporary” idiom (which my pastoral obligations have required me to make some peace with over the last twenty years) can claim victory. Just because someone won’t sing “Love divine, all loves excelling” doesn’t mean they’re going to respond full-throatedly to “Shout to the Lord.” In fact, my intuitive hunch is that singers are singers despite the genre (though most have their preferences one way or the other) and non-singers are non-singers despite the genre. And the problem is that the non-singers have overtaken the singers, in whatever style. So it seems to be in the best interests of the AGO and the AAM to declare a truce with CCLI and their guitar-toting devotees and work on getting people to sing…period. Then they can go back to fighting over what they sing.

Or maybe not. Here my thoughts are more tentative, more speculative. My suspicion is that there in fact needs to be another reform movement in liturgical music, a movement that is populist in that it effectively calls the plebs dei to “own” its participation in the liturgy—musically and in every other way. But it must not merely be a reform that panders to popular taste, because popular taste is presently wedded to passivity and artificiality, which is to say that it is poorly-equipped to generate music that serves the needs of the liturgy, that reveals its inherent shape, rhythm, and flow. Rather, the work before us is more fundamental, more seminal. With the exponentially-increasing de-christianization of western culture, perhaps the Church is called to cultivate (once again?) a musical idiom that is distinctly ecclesiastical (rather than an unreflective emulation of prevailing secular styles, whether “high art” classical or “folk art” popular), accessible (both technically and affectively) to those gathered for worship, and, most importantly, a style that takes a following role rather than a leading role in its dance with the liturgical action.

What will such music sound like? We can only imagine. Let the imagining begin.

The Post-Modern Creed

There needs to be more British humor in my life. Of course, the funniest things are usually the truest. This video absolutely nails my intuitive impression of our culture's ideological center of gravity with respect to Christianity.

GC Resolution Heads-Up

This is the season when we will be seeing more and more drafts of resolutions that will be presented to this summer's triennial General Convention of the Episcopal Church. The text that follows has been made available to me by a member of convention who wishes to remain anonymous at this time. 

The Episcopal Church and Single-Ply Compliance

Resolved, the House of _________ concurring, That this 76^th General Convention of The Episcopal Church urge every parish and Church institution to commit itself to the use of single-ply toilet paper in all restrooms and outhouses; and be it further

Resolved, That every diocese of this Church appoint a Toilet Paper Compliance Officer to monitor adherence to this single-ply policy throughout the diocese; and be it further

 

Resolved, That the Parochial Report submitted by every congregation of this Church include a check-box to indicate single-ply compliance; and be it further

Resolved, That training in Anti-Two-Ply be required of all persons in ordained and lay leadership in this Church; and be it further

Resolved, That the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music be directed to draft an Earth Day liturgy, to be submitted to the 77^th General Convention, which will include prayer for faithfulness to our commitment to single-ply compliance.

 

Explanation

The New York Times reported on February 26, 2009, that two-ply toilet paper is environmentally hazardous.  The Times states:

The national obsession with soft paper has driven the growth of brands like Cottonelle Ultra, Quilted United Northern Ultra and Charmin Ultra – which in 2008 alone increased its sales by 40 percent in some markets, according to Information Resources, Inc., a marketing research firm.  But fluffiness comes at a price:  millions of trees harvested in North America and in Latin American countries, including some percentage of trees from rare old-growth forests in Canada.  Although toilet tissue can be made at similar cost from recycled material, it is the fiber taken from standing trees that help give it that plush feel, and most large manufacturers rely on them.. . . . The country’s soft-tissue habit – call it the Charmin effect – has not escaped the notice of environmentalists, who are increasingly making toilet tissue manufacturers the targets of campaigns.  Greenpeace on Monday for the first time issued a national guide for American consumers that rates toilet tissue brands on their environmental soundness.

The Episcopal Church has made the Millennium Development Goals its first mission priority.  Among those Goals is an important focus on environmental sustainability.  It would be tragic if our Church, committed as we are to peace and justice, were to fail in the matter of toilet paper.  Our Baptismal Covenant implies a single-ply policy:  since we “respect the dignity of every human being,” we must protect the environment in which those human beings live – and must see to it that human beings, in dealing with their most basic needs, do so in an environmentally appropriate way.