Where I was on Wednesday afternoon, Legislative day 8 of the General Convention:
(To be sung to the tune of “Downeaster Alexa;” with apologies to Billy Joel)
1. Now we’re here in the Church called ECUSA
And we’re cruising through hot Anaheim.
We have charted a course toward inclusion,
But we can’t seem to get off the dime.
Some resolutions leave us thrilled and some appalled.
We pray no one amends before the question’s called.
We act and each House asks the other to Concur;
And then we grumble when the other House won’t stir,
So if you see wand’ring Episcopalians
With their names framed in purple or red,
Tell them get their butts back to the voting
So we can put this Convention to bed.
2. So we’re here in this Church called ECUSA,
Although most now would say “T-E-C.”
We are all called to make sacrifices,
And then ask, “That won’t really mean me?”
A resolution will seem moderate or mild,
And be defended like someone’s endangered child.
And then a measure set with consequences stark
Will pass with but a single deputative bark;
So when you see gathered Episcopalians
In the sunshine, communing with God,
Tell them Katherine and Bonnie are sending
Out a page with a hot cattle prod.
3. Now we drive this grand Church called ECUSA
More and more every time that we meet
Farther out from our Anglican siblings,
Building fire under Arch. Rowan’s seat.
We have folks at home who say they want our love.
Those abroad say that we grieve the saints above.
We’re trying hard to be both Cath’lic and Reformed,
Despite our critics, in the faith where we were formed.