General Convention: Thoughts from the Floor

So, we are gathered again at General Convention. There are many matters, each of them weighty at least to someone. If you’re ever blessed to be at General Convention (and, remember, I believe every Episcopalian should spend at least some time at General Convention as a Visitor, if not otherwise), take time to watch a legislative committee. If you can be there in the first week, watch testimony. There must be an opportunity for public testimony on each and every resolution, and it is often in those committee hearings that the most moving rhetoric is heard, the most moving stories are heard.

And this morning - indeed, even now - we are considering action that could start the process of revising the 1979 Book of Common Prayer. We spent an hour on that yesterday, and will spend another half hour today. That may not sound like a lot of time for something this important, but that’s only the discussion in the House of Deputies. There has been extensive discussion, and opportunity for testimony in the legislative committee, and there will be discussion on this in the House of Bishops. And that, of course, assumes that not changes happen in the process. This starts in Deputies; and if what Deputies send is amended in Bishops, it will come back to Deputies; and if amended again, back to Bishops; and…. Well, really, that’s enough. As Convention adjourns at a fixed time, if it hasn’t been settled before that time, the measure - this or any measure -  fails for lack of completion. That’s not a shock to those of us who’ve been around a while. Each Convention many resolutions - more than 100, certainly - fall this way.

And this morning, we are considering Prayer Book revision. Yesterday many voices were heard. We couldn’t hear everyone who wanted to be heard. We had to extend time just to consider amendments, and we won’t get to all those, either. However, I don’t know that this is necessary, at least to inform the body. I listened yesterday and heard a great deal of emotion, and a number of moving stories. That said, I heard only a few themes.

• We need to study the Prayer Book so that we can better worship with new and renewed language.
• We need to study the Prayer Book so that we can better worship with the language we have now.
• We need to have better translations so that new communities we are encountering can worship in their own languages.
• We need to have better translations to serve communities already among us not yet worshiping in their own languages.
• We need to embrace new forms in worship that will be meaningful to our children and our young people.
• We need to hold to our current forms for our children and our young people.

If it begins to sound to others that the same points are being used to argue both for and against undertaking a process of revision - really, not even a process of revision, but a process to study revision - well, that makes sense, because that’s what it has sounded like to me. To study and understand our liturgy; to have our liturgies in our various languages “to be understanded of the people” among us and who might be among us; to speak to our children and young people: these are matters to be addressed in our liturgy, whether we revise or not.

There was, however, one further theme, and it also cut both ways.

• I’m afraid if we revise we will lose who we are and who we have been.
• I’m afraid if we don’t revise we will lose who we are and who we are becoming.

Personally, I think we need to pursue revision. Blessed Marion of Sewanee, when he was teaching me and my seminary about the 1976 first text that would become Book of Common Prayer 1979, he was explicit that the then existing Standing Liturgical Commission thought this a Prayer Book to be revised in 30 years. They thought indeed, as I recall, that no Prayer Book ought to last longer than 30 years, as the language was certain to change.

However, there is a different issue that concerns me, and that is fear. Whether we pursue revision or don’t pursue revision, please God do not let us be driven by fear but called to mission. To understand our liturgy as it is and as it might be; to reach the communities among us and the communities we encounter; to reach out in faith with our children and young people - all of these are wise and necessary, with or without revision. Let us pursue them, then, because God calls us to them, in whatever language.  And if we revise (and, really, sooner or later we will revise), let us, like the wise householder, take both from our old treasure and from our new. I have faith we can be who we’re becoming without losing who we are and who we’ve been. I have faith that if we go forward in faith, doing what is needed to pursue God’s mission, we will have what we need. What we will lose is what no longer services God’s mission. What we gain will be only what serves God’s mission. Who we will be will be who we need to be to pursue God’s mission - which is, really, who we are. Where we fall short is not in who God has empowered us to be, but how clearly we embrace who God has empowered us to be. Our language will change, as it changes constantly; and as a result our liturgy will change. God will not change, and will not change God’s ability to use us for God’s mission.

Instructed Eucharist, Part 2

I was asked by a colleague to prepare an instructed Eucharist for his congregation. Here (in two parts) is my instruction.

At the Peace: We reform the community

Since the days when we were preparing for our current Prayer Book, we have made a deliberate break at this point in the service. While I acknowledge that it can feel like a disruption, we do it for two reasons. We do it because it is what our Christian forebears did, as far back as we can clearly document; but perhaps that may not in itself seem reason enough. So, we do it for the same reason they did it. We do it to move out focus from the whole Christian community to our local community, to this congregation.

We are making the transition in our work together from the general to the specific, from the tradition writ large to it’s very local expression. We are preparing to gather at table; and, like most other such gatherings, we take time together to greet our fellow guests. Jesus told his disciples, “I no longer call you disciples. I call you friends.” Paul said, “We are adopted siblings in God’s household, inheriting siblings with Christ.” So, as friends and family gather it is only natural that we greet one another. And there is one detail we have retained from our Christian forebears. We have taken for ourselves their greeting: “I wish you health; I wish you wholeness; I wish you peace.”

Liturgy of the Table: We participate in the heart of the story

If we are a people of story, it should come as no surprise that we gather around the table. After all, whether we gather as families or as friends, the table is a place where stories are told, stories that help those families, those communities, connect and understand themselves. 

And for us, this is an essential part of our story. Indeed, more than anything we have done so far, this is a part of the story in which we are fully participants. We hold this as essential because Jesus himself said to his disciples, “Do this in remembrance of me.” And beginning from that night, his followers have been doing it ever since.

Note carefully that word, “remembrance.” I am sure you have heard before, but I will tell you again, that word does not mean “remember” in the sense we do. Rather, it means to relive the event, to experience it again. We are not simply recalling the past event. We are participating in the ongoing event that is, as Jesus described in Matthew, “the banquet prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” For that reason a Christian story teller I once heard said it is not the Last Supper; it is the Next to the Last Party.

As we are a people of words, if you read In the Prayer Book, and I hope you will, you will find there are many ways we tell this part of the story: two in Rite One, four in Rite Two, plus guidelines for shaping our own. And there are more, for General Convention has approved another four “for trial use.” Why so many? Because no one of them tells the story completely, much less perfectly. No one of them reflects the breadth of our tradition.

There are, though, points that all have in common. All speak to the full history of God’s work with his people. All speak of Jesus’ ministry in the world. And all include the words of Jesus: “This is my body. Take and eat. This is my blood. Take and drink. Do this to relive this with me.” The Lord himself is our host; and like the first disciples we receive as from his hand.

Dismissal: Carrying the story into the world.

However wonderful the meal, however wonderful the company, the time comes for the meal to end and for the company to leave. And so we also rise from the table.

Our first words as we rise are to thank our host. He has served us, shared himself with us. He has given his body to us that we might be his body in our life and times.

And then our words ask that we be sent. We have said that we gather in Eucharist to be formed as Episcopal Christians and to be conformed to Christ. So, we ask that we might be sent into the world to inform, to allow the wider world to see just what formation and conformation can mean. We know that can be challenging. We want to inform at our best, always a challenging proposition. So we ask for strength and guidance. Remarkably, this once we don’t ask for words. Rather, we ask for help that our witness may attract and our ministry may inform. 

Formed that we may conform that we may then inform: that is our intent when we gather in Eucharist. We come in from the world to encounter Christ in story and at table. We return to the world polished a bit, reshaped a bit, better to live, better to serve, better to share the story. 

Instructed Eucharist, Part 1

I was asked by a colleague to prepare an instructed Eucharist for his congregation. Here (in two parts) is my instruction.

We Gather in Community

You may have participated in an Instructed Eucharist before. I know I have. However, my intent is that this one will be different. This is not going to be a step-by-step instruction of “this is how we do it.” Rather, it will focus more on what we intend to do. 

I have a couple of reasons for this. The most important is that, across the history of the Episcopal Church, and even across the history of Christianity, there have been many different ways of doing things. Some of us have heard, “We stand to praise, we sit to listen, we kneel to pray;” but, then, many Christians, and some of us, hardly ever kneel. As you enter, do you kneel, bow, or just take your seat? Make the sign of the cross or not? These are matters of personal piety, decisions for you to make in your relationship with God. They are not matters for judging another person or another congregation as right or wrong.

The themes and purposes of the liturgy, though, do not change. My intent is that after this morning you will be able to see them lived out in another person or congregation, Episcopal or otherwise, even if they seem to live them out differently than we have at Resurrection; and that seeing them lived out, you will be able to embrace our common Christian life.

So, to begin: to begin with, we gather. More important, we gather with purpose. We gather for formation – to be formed as a community, and to be conformed to Christ.  For that formation process we share in liturgy, from the Greek “the work of the people.” It is what we do, how we celebrate. Pay attention today as we celebrate together. 

Liturgy of the Word: We gather to hear the story; with prayers we begin to shape the story.

As individuals and as communities we are formed by stories. As Christians we are formed by the stories of those who have walked before God – by the stories of our Hebrew forebears; of those who walked with Jesus, God’s Story made flesh; and of those who ever since have sought to bring that story forward. 

That is why we are people of the Word and people of words. The Word Made Flesh is how God shared God’s story with us; and our words are how we share stories with one another. So it is we begin with the Liturgy of the Word: our work together with the Word.

We begin by hearing the Word – hearing it again, for we follow cycles that bring us through the stories again and again. In reading Scripture we hear and recall the story. In sermon and homily we have the opportunity to reflect on how the story is meaningful in our life and times. In our prayers we seek to apply the story in our life and times; for, we are asking God to act, to continue to shape the story. In Confession we acknowledge that we are accountable for how we participate in the story, or how we fail in the effort. In response we hear again the declaration of God’s Word: forgiveness offered for all.

As Episcopalians, heirs of the Anglican tradition, and of nearly two thousand years of Christian tradition, we use words selected with great care. Remember, this is to form us and to conform us to Christ. So, from generation to generation we ask our scholars to review with us again those words that can be resources for our formation. It is not that these are the only words we may use, but they provide the framework we use so that, over time, nothing important is lost. Think of it this way: think of how our Olympic athletes have trained, an image that Paul also used. All train hard, but not all train alike. The downhill skier does not train like the artistic skater, nor the biathlete like the curler. We train for the Christian faith and life, in the Anglican and Episcopal tradition. Like the athlete, we have some things in common with any person of faith. We also have these words and habits that shape the distinctive ways we are formed for life that is generally Christian and specifically Episcopal.

So, pay attention to the words. We say of Scripture that we should “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest;” and I invite you to do the same with the words of the liturgy. Certainly, let them sink into your heart. And, also, let them rattle in your mind. Hear them. Hear the words and the stories, both to embrace them, and also, like Jacob, to wrestle with them. We are formed best when, like athletes, we both embrace the story and also are conscientious about how we might improve in it.

Christmas in Three Movements

My readers all know, I think, that I work in an Episcopal hospital. More to the point, the hospital’s chapel is really not the hospital’s chapel. It is an Episcopal chapel, under the jurisdiction of the Bishop, with me as the Bishop’s vicar. The important aspect of that for this post is that there are certain Episcopal services that are maintained: Sunday Eucharist and Wednesday Eucharist with Healing Service.

During most of the year, preachers at those services are CPE students. However, at times during the year the students get a break and staff chaplains preach. So it was that one of my colleagues came to me and asked, “Do you guys [read “Episcopalians”] actually do John 1 for the Sunday after Christmas?” He is scheduled for this Wednesday, and so  would use the lessons from the previous Sunday, this Sunday, Christmas 1. I assured him that we did – that, in fact, for the third Eucharist of any Christmas (usually Christmas morning) we read John 1 and the beautiful “Hymn to the Logos.” “Well,” he said, “I have to write a sermon for Christmas on Luke. So, on Wednesday I’m preaching on Luke.” I blessed him, shrugged my shoulders, and told him to be sure to let the celebrant know.

We have a rather interesting way that we tell the Christmas story, we Episcopalians, in our Christmas services. (I don’t know whether others do it this way. Yes, the Episcopal Church uses the Revised Common Lectionary; but we use it with some of our own idiosyncrasies.) If one were to do three Christmas services (Eve and Day both), we would actually read three different Gospel passages. At the first, we would read from Luke, but only half of what most people expect. We would read about the census, and Mary and Joseph arriving at Bethlehem, and about angels announcing good tidings to shepherds. At the second service we would read only the second part of Luke, about shepherds going “even unto Bethlehem” to actually see for themselves. Finally, in the third we would read, not from Luke, but from John, about the Word becoming flesh.

I don’t know how often that actually happens. We always have an option at the first two services – and, really, at the third – to read the entire Luke account of Jesus’ birth. It’s the story as everyone knows it, and has all that wonderful imagery and drama. Still, the plan as laid out in the Lectionary is to break the Luke account up, and to include the John. The point is pretty clear: to read, again and again and with different emphases, this sentence:

God did this.

Or, better perhaps, since we do break it into three parts:

God. Did. This.

Let me sort this out. It is an event in three movements, if you will. In the first movement, Luke’s story spends a lot of time on the power of the Emperor, and how civil necessity can make people move. However, the critical point comes when shepherds in the fields are confronted with the angel of the Lord; which is to say, with a message from God. “Today in Bethlehem is born a savior, God’s Messiah” Augustus may make some claims, but it is by God’s plan that David’s heir is in David’s city. It is God who proclaims it, and lets us know that God has done it. In the first movement, our sentence is,

God! did this!

In the second movement, the shepherds investigate. They go, and they find, and they see. The message from God is confirmed, and the faith of the shepherds is affirmed. We have the first witnesses. Sure, they’re not folks who are highly esteemed, nor terribly important; but, then, how many of us are? Rather, they are common folk, people who were, as my mother used to say, “of the earth earthy.” Sure, wise men will be great when they get there, but the first witnesses are witnesses we can trust because they are witnesses just as common as we are. The important sentence turns to,

God Did! this!

Which brings us to the third movement, the movement that takes us from Luke to John. It is John’s opening hymn that really lays out what God did. After all, we’ve all heard those sermons – I’ve certainly preached those sermons – about how the common concept of “messiah” in First century Judea was not what God was about. We’ve also realized often enough just how few people really understood. The Twelve didn’t really understand until the end of the story, much less the Seventy (or Seventy-two, depending). The women come closest, I think: Mary his mother, Mary and Martha of Bethany, Mary Magdalene; but those stories, by and large, are also in John, and so already in the context of the opening hymn. John helps us all to get it: that what God was about on Christmas wasn’t just shaking things up a little. What God was about was wholesale reordering of how God had been doing things. What God was about was Incarnation, about Emmanuel, about no longer being apart but instead being with us. It is in John that the sentence is really completed:

God did This: the Word became flesh, and lived – and lives – among us.

A blessed Christmas Season to all, and a happy and healthy New Year.

Seeking the Right Thing: a Reflection for Holy Week

Sometimes I wonder whether sometimes we go looking for the wrong thing. I have noted recently stories about 'Charlotte's Web.' In this case the subject is isn't the wonderful children's book or related works. In this case, 'Charlotte's Web' is a medicine derived from hemp. I say 'hemp' advisedly. We're not talking about marijuana - or, well, not exactly.　

'Charlotte's Web' has been the news because it has been remarkably helpful for children with seizure disorders that haven't responded to other treatments. News stories have reported about the treatment in Colorado since that state approved medical marijuana, and about efforts in Florida to get it legalized there.

Part of what is interesting to me is that the active ingredient in 'Charlotte's Web' isn't THC, the substance that gives the high. Instead, it is cannabidiol, or CBD. In fact, the strain of hemp developed to produce high quantities of CBD is low in THC.

Now, over the years part of the controversy about medical marijuana has been whether we can identify medical uses for THC. In fact pharmaceutical THC does exist and does get tested. But, what if we're looking for the wrong thing? What if we're looking at medical marijuana and at THC because we've enjoyed the high, when the effective ingredient is CBD?　

Let's remember that this happens with some frequency. One of my favorite television series of past years was 'Connections.' In that series from the late 70's James Burke traced through history scientific and technological developments that had interesting results, but rarely those that were expected or sought. For example, the IBM punch card familiar to those of us of a certain age had its roots in the French weaving industry.

So, what if we're looking for the wrong thing? We do that often enough in the Church. Historically (not to cast aspersions on current activities), we've often had Commissions on Ministry that were really Commissions on　Ordained Ministries. Someone who didn't quite fit as deacon or priest didn't necessarily get good guidance - or any meaningful guidance at all. Congregations in transition have often sought to replicate someone from the past, not thinking about of the needs of the future.　

We do that personally as well. We have a romantic view of what love is about - we seem to think first and mostly of 'romantic love' said there were no other - and find ourselves failed and failing. In survey after survey we say of government, 'Throw the bums out,' and then keep electing incumbent who caters to our self-serving positions.

And in none of these cases are the things we seek 'wrong' necessarily. That is, they aren't 　inherently immoral. At the same time, they aren't the right things for the needs and circumstances we face. They are what we want, but not what we need.　

We look for the wrong things in Easter. At least, I think we can get distracted by the wrong things about Easter. We talk about being freed from death who no longer see death as a daily reality. We talk about being freed from sin when we have no sense of sins to confess. We can relish the joy of Easter as if we didn't have to go through Good Friday to get there.

Do I overstate? Perhaps I do. Certainly, I do think we liturgical types, Episcopal and others, have more opportunity to embrace the aspects of our faith that we need and don't necessarily want. Let me also affirm that we are also looking for the wrong thing if we wallow in the guilt of Holy Week and never claim resurrection.　Still, the quasi-Christian culture around us jumps happily to flowers and bunnies and chick and children with candy eggs, as if all that new life had come without hard experience – flowers that must break the soil; children and their mothers who survive childbirth.

That same culture in political speech will remind us that "freedom isn’t free," and will recall faithfully those "who made the ultimate sacrifice." How much more appropriate, then, that as we celebrate our joy in Easter that we recall that it has come indeed at the cost of the ultimate sacrifice – ultimate not only in the extent of Christ’s commitment, but also in the extent of God’s consequences. Our graves will only open because he experienced the grave first. And so, let us not be distracted, jumping ahead and seeking the wrong thing. Rather, let us prepare to celebrate the Paschal Feast by embracing wholeheartedly the Way of the Cross.

Standards of Practice for Chaplain: Standard 1, Part A

I know it’s been a while. Bear with me.

Many of the professions involved in health care have long had Standards of Practice. For example, you can learn about nursing standards here; or about social workers here.

In 2009 a group  with representatives from the Association of Professional Chaplains (APC) and the National Association of Catholic Chaplains (NACC) produced a set of Standards of Practice for Chaplains in Acute Care (which is to say, in hospital settings). You can learn more about that process and access the Standards here.  The Standards may have several benefits for us in the profession.

Having Standards of Practice will now help chaplains communicate with others about chaplaincy and assist chaplains in discussions with other chaplains. Ultimately, the goal is to ensure a consistently high clinical practice for our profession.

With these goals in mind, my department is embracing these Standards of Practice. Over time they should become the framework for our work, and the way that we “tell our story” to other chaplains and to administrators.

That means I need to be thinking through these Standards myself. I need to be able to speak to them if I’m going to help others embrace them; and one of my most effective ways to think is to think out loud here.

The Standards are divided into three sections. Section 1 is Chaplaincy Care with Patients and Families. The sections begin with “Standard 1, Assessment: The chaplain gathers and evaluates relevant data pertinent to the patient’s situation and/or bio-psycho-social-spiritual/religious health.”

As I look at the Standard, the first issue has to be definition of terms. For me, the hardest isn’t really the strangest. “Bio-psycho-social-spiritual/religious health” is simply – no, let’s just say really – a jargonistic way to speak to the health of the whole person, incorporating an expectation that a person who is holistically healthy is spiritually healthy.

No, I’m much more concerned first about “relevant data pertinent to the patient’s situation….” What are we considering data?

One of the older documentation frameworks, used in many cases in Social Work and also sometimes by chaplains, is the classic SOAP note: Subjective, Objective, Assessment, Plan. The categories that are about data are Subjective and Objective: what are the statements the person can make based on perception (Subjective – like “Patient appears anxious”); and what are the statements that others would also see as facts (Objective – like “Patient is holding a rosary”). Both the subjective and objective statements are data; and by identifying some as “subjective” and some as “objective” there is some acknowledgement of differences of authority.

So, for chaplains, what might we consider data? What we perceive, certainly; and what is reported. For example, both what we have in the present moment can inform us, and also what stories we hear from patients and family members. A patient’s statement about church membership is data, and so is the patient’s story about a childhood experience in Sunday School.

Which confronts us with the qualifying term: what makes the data relevant? Actually, the Standard is to evaluate the data for relevance. Our models for evaluation are the frameworks within which we determine whether the data is relevant. So, let me think a bit and then come back in the next reflection.

Remembering the Dorchester Chaplains

Perhaps it’s the cold weather by itself. Perhaps it’s because I haven’t been home in a while because of the weather (my decision and my wife’s, and not my hospital’s). For one reason or another, there is something particularly resonant about the observation today of the lesser feast of the Dorchester Chaplains.

The Dorchester Chaplains were military chaplains. Their story is told in the book, No Greater Glory by Dan Kurzman. They were chaplains in the United States Army shipping with troops on the USAT Dorchester when on February 3, 1943, it was attacked and sunk by a submarine of the Navy of Nazi Germany. In the midst literally of fire, flood, and terror, they cared for those in their charge. They offered support, they assisted into the lifeboats, and gave up their life jackets. They stayed with the ship, witnessed to be praying together by one of the last witnesses; and together they disappeared into dark, cold waters. “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

And in that light, I am reflective on this morning’s temperatures – 10 degrees below 0F when I woke this morning – and conscious how I would fare exposed as they were. A verse from today’s Daily Office lesson – “For you shall go out in joy, and be led back in peace” (Isaiah 55:12) – sounds different, feels different for these who died in the midst of war.

I have written before of my esteem for my colleagues in military chaplaincy. They provide care in difficult circumstances, and protect freedom to practice religion for those whose time and place are not under their control. I can appreciate their work, when mine has much in common with theirs; but rarely in my career (for good or ill, I can’t say “never”) has my ministry required anything like their sacrifice and risk. This is a day to remember the peaceful, compassionate ministries and sacrifice of the Dorchester Chaplains; and to appreciate the peaceful, compassionate ministries and sacrifices of their colleagues who continue to serve.

Good Theological Discussion Can Be Had - and Here's One Example.

There are those who suggest that lively theological discussion doesn't happen in the Episcopal Church; or that the conclusions are so determined by current social fashion as to make the discussion short, predictable, and vapid.

With that in mind, I'd like to invite my regular readers to an active online discussion led by one of my colleagues at the Episcopal Cafe.  Derek Olson has written in three parts a discourse on "Communion Without Baptism."  We all know that it happens occasionally, just because few of us want to set "crossing guards" between the front pews and the communion rails.  The question is whether we should make that an acceptable option (as happens in the invitation in a few congregations), or an exception to the norm to be addressed pastorally and individually.

It's a great discussion, and you can get in on it.  Read the first part, the second part, and the third part; and with each part read the comments.  Feel free, too, to add your own comments.  Sure, it will take a while - but, then, good theological reflection in community does take a while.  And this is good theological reflection, and well worth your time.  So, sit down, grab your favorite beverage, and get into it.

Grand Rounds Again

I've had another article accepted to the health care blog carnival, Grand Rounds. The new edition is up at Health Blogs Observatory, and my recent post on problems with a research article on religious coping was accepted.

This is National Hospital Week, and follows National Nursing Week, and to this Grand Rounds starts with a tribute to Florence Nightingale. For my Episcopal readers (and others interested in church issues), remember that Florence Nightingale is remembered in the Episcopal Calendar of Lesser Feasts and Fasts (August 12). You can find here a concise biography, including how she lived out her faith in her work.

So, head over to Grand Rounds and see what folks in health care are writing about. The articles are interesting and the scope is broad.

Brief Thoughts of the Season

I have been addressing Christmas cards. Wishing everyone a Happy Christmas and a Blessed New Year has focused one of my continuing questions. I think that if we are to wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy Easter, shouldn't we also have greetings appropriate to the other seasons of the Church Year? I think we should hope for everyone an Anxious Advent (or perhaps Anticipatory, but that’s a bit much); an Enlightened Epiphany; a Lousy Lent; a Horrible Holy Week; an Aspiring Ascenciontide (which could also, I suppose, be Anticipatory; but it’s still a bit much); and a Patient Pentecostide (or Persistent or Perduring or – too many P-words, I fear).

So, the time will come soon when I do wish readers a Merry Christmas. For now, I hope you’re having an Anxious, Anticipatory Advent. (Gee, it works better than I thought!)

One Priest on Baptism

It’s not so much that it’s been a slow week as I’ve been slow this week. Please God, this too shall pass…. Back to work:


As do many of us, I use a service to track how many people visit this blog, where they are, and what brought them there. That last is usually another web page. Often enough it’s a search page, and I often find the search questions quite interesting. Earlier this week there was one search string that seemed fortuitous. The search question was, in essense, “What do Episcopalians believe about baptism?” That was fortuitous because just that night I met with a group of parents to instruct them about baptism. Their children will be baptized this Sunday, the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord. In light of the question, and my own preparation, I thought I would share here what I shared with them

SO, what are we doing in Baptism? As I thought about it, I decided we were doing eight things.

1. Following the Lord’s command
Baptism is one of the two sacraments of the Church that everyone agrees was commanded by Jesus: “And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:18-20)

2. Participating in the Baptism of Jesus
Jesus was baptized by John in the Jordan. John’s baptism was a statement of repentance. To “repent” – metanoia in Greek – means literally “to turn around.” John was calling the people of God to literally turn toward God and to turn away from lives that distracted them from God. By participating in John’s baptism, Jesus endorsed John’s message. Of course, he then went on to transcend it.

3. Participating in the death and resurrection of Jesus
Paul speaks about our participation Christ’s death and resurrection: “Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. The saying is sure: If we have died with him, we will also live with him.” (2 Timothy 2:10-11) The Church has long understood that being baptized, going through the water, is to symbolically die so as to be resurrected.

To catch some of this, we need to recognize where water fits into those “might acts of God.” Think about the stories we tell in the Easter Vigil. We recall the story of Noah, when God carried his family through the waters that killed all of life so as to virtually restart creation. We recall the story of Israel at the Red Sea, when they walked through the waters “that stood up like walls” – waters that would destroy the Egyptians. There are other stories – notably Joshua leading Israel through the Jordan into the land of promise, and Jonah being saved in the belly of the fish – in which God brings his chosen to life through waters that would otherwise mean death.

It can be a little easier if we understand how baptisms were done in the early Church. The earliest good information we have is from the late Third-early Fourth Centuries. It describes a powerful rite of passage held in a special baptistery, a separate structure adjacent to the church. The candidate, stripped naked and anointed for exorcism, was brought to the font by two attendants. The bishop stood on a dais above the candidate and asked, “Do you believe in God the Father?” The candidate would answer, “I believe!” and would immediately be immersed by the attendants. The bishop would ask again, “Do you believe in God the Son” The candidate would answer, “I believe,” and would once again be immersed. The bishop would ask finally, “Do you believe in God the Son?” The candidate would answer a third time, “I believe,” and a third time would be immersed, held in the strong hands of the attendants. When lifted from the water, the candidate would be anointed again for blessing, dressed in a new white robe, and escorted to the church to join the congregation.

Think about that experience of being submerged in that big font. You could get a very real sense that you could drown if this went wrong. So, the sense of risking death to rise to new life was quite palpable. We don’t put our children – or, for that matter, our adults – through that sort of experience these days; but we retain the understanding.

4. Cleansing from sin.
Now, sometimes we struggle with this. We baptize infants. What sin do we want to attribute to infants? Look at what the Catechism says:

Q. What is sin?
A. Sin is the seeking of our own will instead of the will of God, thus distorting our relationship with God, with other people, and with all creation.

When are we as human beings more committed to seeking our own will than as infants? In one sense we’re prepared to excuse it: babies are so helpless, we’re not surprised that they’re needy. At the same time, they demonstrate quite clearly a characteristic of being human that just doesn’t go away. Left to our own devices, we little less inclined to seek our own way as adults as we were as infants. And left to our own devices, we certainly do distort all of our relationships. We speak of that tendency, overcome at best only temporarily and at significant effort, as “original sin.”

We believe that we are cleansed both from past sins and from “original sin.” That is, God’s forgiveness is made free to us – free for what we’ve already done, and free to prevent our ultimate destruction by those things we will almost certainly do in the future. We’re not freed from the tendency, the character flaw. That would be to take from us our humanity. However, we are freed from that tendency, those distortions, from being God’s last word.


5. Receiving the Holy Spirit
We believe God shares with us his Holy Spirit. While that’s God’s action, and not something we can force, we trust that if we do this in the right way and with the right intent, God will come through. God shares with his Holy Spirit, which offers us the opportunity to be aware always of God’s presence, and empowers us to live lives that resist sin and evil. Our natural inclination is to distort. Our capacity to resist that inclination is God’s Spirit working in us to support and strengthen us.

6. Being born again into the Body of Christ
We know that birth is in itself passage through water. The first public sign of the coming birth is when the water breaks. In this case, it is the Church’s water, and the person newborn is newborn into the Body of Christ, which is the Church. In this birth the Spirit we receive is the Holy Spirit, which we also know is the Spirit of Christ. So, we become “members” in Christ’s Body, as Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 12.

The other image we use in the Church to describe this new relationship is agricultural: we speak of the person being grafted into Christ. This catches the image that Jesus gave us in John: “I am the vine and you are the branches.” (John 15:5) Paul picks up this image in Romans when he speaks of Gentiles being taken into the community of God in place of unbelieving Israel: “For if you have been cut from what is by nature a wild olive tree and grafted, contrary to nature, into a cultivated olive tree, how much more will these natural branches be grafted back into their own olive tree.” (Romans 11:24) Although it isn’t quite as powerful an image as birth, we do still remember this image as well.

7. Joining the Church as institution.
Of course, the public expression of being newborn in Christ is to be added to the Church roles. Now, note that baptism is full membership in the Church. You’re never more a member of the Church that at Baptism. We require certain maturity to participate in some of the activities of the Church – notably, being 16 years old to vote in parish meetings and serve on vestries – and we offer Confirmation as an opportunity to claim the faith as a choice; but those don’t make a person “more” of a member. Every baptized person is a full member of the Episcopal Church.

8. Committing to the new life of faith.
Finally, we commit ourselves, or we commit to raise our children, to a life that shows forth our faith publicly. That’s why we recite the Baptismal Covenant in full for every Baptism, for every Confirmation, and each year at the Easter Vigil. It’s why the Baptismal Covenant as we understand it in the Episcopal Church doesn’t end with the recitation of the Creed, but includes some pretty specific claims of what the Christian faith and life looks like:

Celebrant Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
People I will, with God’s help.

It’s not just a matter of what we believe. It’s also a matter of how we will live out that belief.

It’s also not just a matter of what we believe as individuals. First, parents and Godparents commit to see “that the child you present is brought up in the Christian faith and life” – this Christian faith and life. We commit do this actively, and not passively, by our “prayers and witness.” And we commit to support one another, and to support one another’s children, in this when we say “We will” “do all in [our] power to support these persons in their life in Christ.”


So, this is one priest's response. The class seemed to appreciate it; at least they stayed attentive and interested, and that's all one can ask.

Naked Under Our Clothes?

I read The Anglican Digest. I enjoy many of the essays, and I appreciate the quality of many that I don’t exactly enjoy. I also appreciate the news items. It really does give some sense of being part of a communion larger than The Episcopal Church.

In the current edition, I was struck by the “Thesis from a Seminary Door” column from the Very Rev. Paul F. M. Zahl, titled, “Anglican Without the Skin On.” I was immediately caught by the first paragraph:

Now that our old church has left us, what does it mean to be Anglican? Now that the form is changing, what is left of the heart and essence? What does it mean to be an Anglican without the comfortable and familiar wrapping?

Dean Zahl suggests three characteristics. First, “Anglican means the 1928 Prayer Book. Stated a little more deeply, Anglican means the incomparable liturgy that Thomas Cranmer and his friends put together in the 1540’s and ‘50’s, which is a unique and very precious treasure for the entire Christian Church.”

Second, “Anglican means to be non-lecturing. An actual empirical quality that emerges when you are with traditional or orthodox Episcopalians, in contrast to orthodox members of other churches, is the fact that they don’t lecture you..” The context is important to understanding his perspective: “When I am with other evangelicals, in particular, I often feel I am being talked down to.”

Finally, “Anglican means to be core and not penultimate.” The specific application of this is that “we do have a tradition of riding easy on secondary matters. It really is possible (despite what we have been told since 1979) to be a kosher Anglican and have Morning Prayer as the principal service most Sunday mornings and wear a cassock, surplice, and tippet.” The liturgical uniformity of the 1979 Prayer Book “doesn’t mean that wide latitude in secondary matters is not important. It is just that the core of ‘what is everywhere to be believed’ [in The Episcopal Church] has been shrunk to way too little.”

Now, what intrigued me in this was not his second point. I have my own experiences of feeling lectured to by Christians of other, more stereotypically Evangelical churches. I grew up, as I often say, breathing Southern Baptist air. I knew very young that when some folks asked me if I were a Christian or if I knew Jesus that my baptism and active participation in the United Presbyterian Church (or, as we said in the Southern Mountains, the Northern Presbyterians, to distinguish them, obviously, from the Southern Presbyterians) would not meet the questioner’s standards for either. (Yes, I am another Episcopal cleric who is a convert.)

I was more struck by the Dean’s liturgical observations. Now, I came into the Episcopal Church just at the beginning of the long process of revision that ended in the current Book of Common Prayer (1979). I came into the Episcopal Church in a church that had Morning Prayer from the previous Book of Common Prayer (1928) two Sundays a month (second and fourth, as I recall). I often say that as a young man who loved music, I fell in love with the liturgy of The Episcopal Church, and chanting the canticles of Morning Prayer was an essential part of that. I had a greater appreciation of that than I had of the Eucharistic prayer we had inherited largely from the Scottish Episcopal Church. Even with a longer sermon, Morning Prayer always seemed shorter than Holy Communion, probably because we participated more, and because once the sermon was over we were essentially done. Now, that was all a feeling. I came to realize that Holy Communion was a shorter service; but the perception that it was shorter was clear. Indeed, as our parish explored revised liturgies, it was a major concern: some people were afraid that a Eucharistic focus would keep them in church too long.

With all that, I grew into the Episcopal Church using the previous Prayer Book (if not only the previous Prayer Book), and, graduating from seminary as I did in 1980, was one of that last generation trained to use the previous Prayer Book. To this day in the midst of a Rite I service I will feel welling up inside of me such phrases as “and there is no health in us; “ and “that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his body, and our souls washed through his most precious blood.”

At the same time, it seems to me his liturgical concerns are hardly “secondary matters.” My reactions above are sentimental, and I fear his are as well. After all, as I recall the point of the Eucharistic focus was to recover Biblical practice – as in all those references in Acts to gathering “on the eighth day.” Certainly, our Orthodox siblings (Greek, Eastern, and Oriental) have maintained that practice in continuity from earliest days. Even if some of our Anglican ancestors were concerned that weekly Eucharist was “too Romish,” they would never have argued that it wasn’t the ancient practice of the Church.

I would suggest this was Cranmer’s expectation, as demonstrated by this rubric among the exhortations in the 1549 Prayer Book: "And if upon the Sunday or holydaye the people be negligent to come to the Communion: Then shall the Priest earnestly exhorte his parishoners, to dispose themselfes to the receiving of the holy communion more diligently, saiyng these or like wordes unto them." (I will acknowledge that Communion was commonly preceded by Matins; but that isn’t really the practice I knew as a new Episcopalian on those second and fourth Sundays of the month.) And while that rubric is not in the 1552 Prayer Book, this one has been added: "And in Cathedrall and Collegiate churches, where be many Priestes and Deacons, they shall at receyve the Communion wyth the minister every Sonday at the least, excepte they have a reasonable cause to the contrary." (Considering the changes in ceremonial from 1549 to 1552, this is an interesting consistency.) Marion Hatchett is of this opinion. He writes in Commentary on the American Prayer Book, “The rubrics presume… that the Eucharist will be celebrated in every church every Sunday and holy day for which a proper is provided” unless “…there is no one prepared to communicate with the priest.” (p. 300)

I am also struck with an argument for a return to a 19th century rendering of 16th century English, because that runs so counter to the intent of Cranmer’s work. After all, consider Article XXIV of the Articles of Religion, titled, “Of Speaking in the Congregation in such a Tongue as the people understandeth:” “It is a thing plainly repugnant to the Word of God, and the custom of the Primitive Church, to have public Prayer in the Church, or to minister the Sacraments, in a tongue not understanded of the people.” Now, I would never suggest that people today can’t understand Tudor English, in Prayer Book or Scripture, or Shakespeare for that matter; but we know well there is a certain amount of education required. As beautiful as it is, it would not be understood these days by many unchurched visitors.

Now, I’m sure Dean Zahl is aware of this. His essay seems to me, as I said, a sentimental perspective, and not a theological argument; and he has certainly as much right to his sentimental perspective as I want to mine. The fact is, I’m not disturbed at the thought of Morning Prayer as the principle service on Sunday (although I would personally prefer using Morning Prayer as the Liturgy of the Word, not that far from early Anglican practice). Certainly, I miss singing in church the canticles of the offices, whether in traditional or contemporary language.

I would respectfully disagree, though, that some such return to my childhood would be all that Anglican, or at least any more Anglican than the current norms of the Episcopal Church. It seems to me less Anglican practice “without the comfortable and familiar wrapping,” than changing back into some worn, comfortable clothes. I return to such clothes precisely because they’re comfortable; but they’re no more effective as clothes – protecting me from the elements and from inappropriate exposure – than some of the newer items in my closet. (And, believe me, this is not an argument for what is stylish. No one has ever accused me of being stylish in my attire.)

No, while I can appreciate his opinion, I can’t share it. Has “the core… been shrunk to way too little?” So he believes. But, in a Church that believes lex orendi lex credendi, norms of worship can hardly be secondary, however much we might value being comprehensive. And so I cannot agree that considering such matters secondary could ever be considered Anglican.

One Lord, One Faith, One Baptism?

I have been thinking further about the Baptismal Covenant, as we call it in the American Book of Common Prayer. Specifically, I have been thinking about the difference I noted between the Covenant in the American Prayer Book and its parallel in Common Worship of the Church of England.

The first difference, the one I noted in my last post, is in the last question. In the Book of Common Prayer (1979), it is phrased

Celebrant: Will you strive for justice and peace among allpeople, and respect the dignity of every humanbeing?
People: I will, with God’s help.

In Common Worship it is phrased differently:

Will you acknowledge Christ's authority over human society,
by prayer for the world and its leaders,
by defending the weak, and by seeking peace and justice?
With the help of God, I will.

(Note that I distinguish American or Episcopal usage from Common Worship, rather than "English usage," because I'm not reflecting on the 1662 Book of Common Prayer.)

Now, that seems an interesting difference. It clarifies who’s in charge in a way that our American usage does not. Of course, in a society that still has an established church, that may be easier to include. At the same time, there is something lost if we in the Episcopal Church imagine that the call to justice and peace is our own, and solely our, responsibility. I also think “defending the weak” puts some teeth, as it were, into striving for justice and peace and respecting dignity.

There are other differences in the use of the Covenant, or as it is called in Common Worship, the Commission. These are things you have to read the rites themselves to find. In Baptism in the Episcopal Church the Baptismal Covenant is repeated by the entire congregation in all baptisms. In addition, it is used in the Great Vigil of Easter, whether there is a baptism or not. Thus, the Covenant, and the call to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being,” is repeated several times a year by all members of the congregation. In Common Worship this version of the Commission is specified for “the newly baptized who are able to answer for themselves....” (Another version is used for parents who are speaking for infants.) Thus, it is an individual, even private, commitment. I don’t find on line a rite in Common Worship for the Great Vigil of Easter, and so I can’t exclude the thought entirely; but it would not appear that there is any time when this is spoken by the entire congregation, whether in Baptism, or at another time.

There is another difference. In the American rite, the Baptismal Covenant is recited before the baptism, and in fact before the blessing of the water. It is, in fact, directly connected to the Apostles’ Creed, which is included in – indeed, is the foundation of - the Baptismal Covenant. In the rite in Common Worship this Commission is recited after the baptism, separated from the Creed (which is referred to as the Profession of Faith).

The implication I see is that in American usage the questions of the Covenant are seen as integral to the Christian faith. They are included with the Creed, and required of all. They are required before the baptism, spiritual “informed consent” as it were. We are saying, in a sense, “You need to know what you're getting into. Belief in Jesus Christ and participation in his Body will necessarily be reflected in these ways.” On the other hand, in the usage in Common Worship this is a mission undertaken by the adult believer, an expression of but not necessarily integral to a lively Christian faith. It is, again, separated from the Creed, and not required of all. (This is not inconsistent with the use of these questions in Confirmation in Aotearoa /New Zealand and in Ireland.)

Now, are these differences that make a difference? Perhaps not; but if the crisis in the Anglican Communion has been described as a difference in understanding of the Christian faith – and it has! – these differences seem worth thinking about. What difference does it make that in America we do not claim “Christ's authority over human society?” What difference does it make that we do claim these social actions as integral to Christian faith, almost equal to the baptismal Creed, rather than as ministries rooted in the faith but not part of its content?

I have heard that, for all our claimed trust in God’s grace, Christians are prone to being at least semi- Pelagian. We want to claim some participation in our salvation, if only for the sense of control that it allows us. I fear we Americans may be among the worst in that case. I agree with the Letter of James, that truly accepting the content of the faith will result in actions in the world. At the same time we may so embrace the concept of being co-Creators that we lose our understanding of our place – our necessarily inferior place – in that participation. We have been accused of heterodoxy at best, of framing “a new religion” at worst. I think we can make clear that we understand that, for all God’s grace in allowing us to be agents in the world, participants and co-Creators in God’s plan, we are still saved by grace through faith in Christ’s death and resurrection for us. I think we can; but perhaps we need to do a better job, both abroad, and at home.

Divided by a Common Prayer Book

I am a regular reader of, and occasional responder to, the Thinking Anglicans web site. Among those sites where current issues in the Anglican Communion are discussed, this is one of the best. It is, at least, one of the few that focuses on civil discourse, with voices from a variety of perspectives.

So, not long ago in a discussion at Thinking Anglicans the Baptismal Covenant came up. An American in a comment justified actions of the Episcopal Church as appropriate expressions of the Baptismal Covenant; to which a number of respondents from other parts of the world said, "What? Baptismal Covenant? What's that?"

I think most of my readers are American and Episcopalians/Anglicans. For any reader who isn't both, let me explain the Baptismal Covenant. In the rite of Holy Baptism in the Book of Common Prayer (1979) pages 304 and 305 are devoted to “The Baptismal Covenant.” The Covenant begins with and is built around the Apostles' Creed. This is consistent with other Anglican provinces, and with other Christian communions. However, the Covenant goes on to include a series of commitments to express the Creed in how we live:

Celebrant Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?
People I will, with God’s help.

Celebrant Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?
People I will, with God’s help.

Now, the American church is not the only place where this, or something like it, is used. It is also used in the same form in the Canadian Book of Alternative Services (1985), and an abbreviated version of it is used in Holy Baptism 2005 of the Episcopal Church of Scotland. The Anglican Church in Aotearoa, New Zealand & Polynesia and the Church of Ireland do not use in Baptism, but do use it in Confirmation (New Zealand/Aotearoa I had to find in hard copy). In Common Worship of the Church of England, where it is an option in the baptism of adults, the commitment to “strive for justice and peace among all people” is rephrased as,

Will you acknowledge Christ's authority over human society,
by prayer for the world and its leaders,
by defending the weak, and by seeking peace and justice?
With the help of God, I will.

This is from a limited and cursory review of liturgical resources available on the web. Not all provinces of the Communion share on their web sites what Book of Common Prayer is officially recognized. I’m also limited in examining those resources available in English and Spanish. However, what I did note in doing some further looking is that many provinces would not have this. This apparently was an innovation of the American church that was picked up by other, later liturgical revisions and authorizations. So, any church whose most recent version is about the same time or earlier is not likely to have it. For example, it is not in The Alternative Service Book of the Church of England (1980). As the Church of Nigeria – Anglican states on its web site that the official text is the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, they would certainly not use it. The web site of the Diocese of Singapore in the Church in the Province of Southeast Asia makes a similar statement. We cherish worship in “a tongue… understanded of the people,” as Article XXIV states. And if that worship were translated from an earlier English or American Prayer Book, again, these questions would not be there.

I find myself wondering what this says to the current controversies in the Anglican Communion. It was Shaw who said, “England and America are two countries separated by the same language.” I seem to remember from the days of Prayer Book revision some joke about folks being “divided by a common Prayer Book.” But, this is precisely what has happened. We have still the concept of a common Prayer Book; but one has to wonder how much we have in common.

In this instance, there is a distinct contrast between seeing faith primarily in action, as in the Baptismal Covenant; and in seeing faith primarily in acceptance of the necessary content. That isn’t to say that the former doesn’t take the content as necessary; nor that the latter doesn’t expect to see the content expressed in action. But we practice common worship precisely because we believe that we are conformed by it. How differently are we conformed when, in every baptism and/or confirmation and often with the bishop present, some of us focus on the content of the Apostles’ Creed, and others of us go on to illustrate the Creed with commitments to action? And when I look at my survey, incomplete and unscientific as it is, I wonder if the lines between those positions within the Communion don’t look an awful lot like the lines between the Global South and the liberal West.

In the current arguments those of us who call for full inclusion appeal to the prophetic call to justice. Those who think we go too far appeal to the authority of Scripture and received tradition. I can’t help but wonder whether being conformed with or without the commitments of the Baptismal Covenant hasn’t led us to grow apart. I have not yet despaired that we can continue to live together. I’m sure our divergence is far more complicated than this one specific difference of practice. Still, I have to think that a full generation with this difference in practice, in how we understand the faith, has played its part.