Patience Through the Pain of Waiting

I’ve been reading over the past couple of days posts from Jim Naughton at Daily Episcopalian and from Lionel Deimel on his blog. The more I have seen of events discussed in these comments, and the more I've thought, the more I'm convinced of the ultimate sectioning of the Anglican Communion. "They" won't want to stay with "us;" and if we manage to avoid that in Dar es Salaam, it will only to be delaying the inevitable. In one sense, it doesn't matter who "walks apart." Someone will walk, and if even one province does so (and it hardly seems likely that the divisions will involve only one province on either side) the Anglican Communion will not be the same.

How and when will this happen? It may happen at any of a number of junctures. There will be participation in Tanzania or there will not. There will be invitations to Lambeth to all Episcopal bishops or there will not. All of those invited to Lambeth will come or some will not. A Covenant will be acceptable to all, or, more likely, will not. At one of those points - probably at several of those points – statements of “we cannot sit at table with” or “we cannot receive communion with” will be affirmed and/or reaffirmed, and folks will simply stop coming to the meetings. If, as Archbishop Tutu has said, what holds the Communion together is that “we meet,” when folks stop coming to meetings the Communion will change.

We have, I believe, already had a foretaste of that in the meetings that have happened to which folks have been disinvited. The meeting of Global South Primates is of this sort. I was even more convinced when the Province of Brazil was disinvited to the Cairo meeting. That was a point where a gathering of provinces to address like needs was changed to a gathering of provinces to reflect like minds. Of itself this was not a critical break. After all, there is good reason for folks with like needs to meet and share, and we who do not have the same needs have good reason to support such meetings. But the change of a meeting for like needs to a meeting of like minds seems to me a foretaste of what will happen to the Anglican Communion.

Brothers Naughton and Deimel have been reflecting on whether we need the Anglican Communion. I think that’s a reasonable question; but since the Communion seems pointed toward inevitable change, I think there’s a prior question. Deimel looks toward that question by thinking through how we benefit from the Anglican Communion. My question is not whether the need the Anglican Communion, but whether we need international communion among Anglicans. I think Deimel’s arguments speak to the value of international communion among Anglicans, whether this Anglican Communion stands or not.

We do have other ecumenical relations to attend to and nourish. Our communion with Lutherans, both at home and abroad, is important. Our continuing and growing relationships with Methodists and Moravians, both at home and abroad, are important. Our participation in the National Council of Churches and in the World Council of Churches are important. They are all ways that we as Christians can meet with other Christians to pursue together God’s Kingdom.

At the same time, our Lutheran siblings meet internationally with their Lutheran siblings. The Methodists do the same. We share an Anglican tradition with other provinces in the current Anglican Communion, and specifically a shared understanding of what that tradition really looks like. While some provinces have said and will say, “We do not recognize the Anglican tradition in you,” others will certainly say, “We do.” We should maintain or build those structures that will allow us to continue to meet with those who will meet with us. Whether is will be called the Anglican Communion remains to be seen, and is to come extent out of our hands. In no small part, that depends on what Canterbury decides (and sooner or later Canterbury will have to make a decision). Whatever it is called, I still think it is worth supporting.

It seems to me that communion among Anglicans is not unlike the episcopate. Among the breadth of Christians we have debated whether bishops are necessary for the Church (esse), or are a benefit to the Church (bene esse), or reflect the fullness of the Church (pleni esse). I fall into the latter category. To say the first is to suggest that my Presbyterian and Congregational siblings are not Christians, and I can’t see that. To say the second is to ignore our tradition of bishops as visible centers of the continuing apostolic ministry. Bishops help us look toward our eschatological hope of a church unified laterally in this moment and historically with all moments.

The same is true of international communion with others in the Anglican Tradition. It is, I think, of the pleni esse of this Church – meaning both The Episcopal Church and also those provinces of the existing Anglican Communion that share our understanding of the Anglican tradition. It looks toward our eschatological hope of the Body of Christ truly one, and gives us the opportunity to work toward that in our own time. It doesn’t deny the Christianity of those who disagree with us, but it calls us beyond simply appreciating the good feelings we have when we do talk to one another. It reminds us that the Body is Christ’s, in which we participate; and not ours, as if Christ’s Body were simply the sum of its parts.

What do we do in the meantime? Naughton has even questioned whether we should provide financial support to the Anglican Consultative Council and the Anglican Communion Office, when the ACO seems powerless to, or disinterested in, our place in the Anglican Communion. Personally, I think we continue in the Anglican Communion as it is until abandoned or cast out by others. We have said again and again that we’re committed to continue in “the highest level of communion possible” with those who will continue in communion. Toward that end, we need also to show our support for and participation in existing structures. To this point, while perhaps they have not satisfied us, neither have they failed us. Many if not most of these events are as much beyond their control as they are beyond ours. I pray we will not become so angry and so venal that we will take our financial ball and go home while there’s still someone on the field willing to play. Certainly, we need not fund those who leave; and we cannot be expected to fund those who might cast us out. But we haven’t gotten there yet; and so I can’t agree to that action.

Years ago, when my first wife left me, the bishop for whom I then worked demonstrated clearly his pastoral ineptitude and his institutional conservatism. But, the Church did not fail me. Brothers and sisters in Christ, both lay and ordained, cared for me and supported me, even in the face of some difficult and perhaps ill-advised choices. And many prayed for me, whether they expressed a personal interest or not. That bishop failed me, but God and the Church did not.

Some provinces of the Anglican Communion have failed us, and others may – almost certainly will. But not all have, and not all will; and whatever happens to this Anglican Communion, some international communion among Anglicans is worth pursuing, maintaining, and paying for. It will bring us together with those of (sufficiently) like mind and of different need. It will call us to reach beyond ourselves, even our admittedly international selves, to meet and work with others beyond our bounds. Most important, it will call us again toward seeking for the future, and modeling as best we can now, our commitment to the fullness of the Body of Christ and our participation in it.

Fighting the Last War?

I was struck by a story that appeared in the Faith section of Saturday’s Kansas City Star. Titled “The New Missionaries,” it is about a mission conference recently held in St. Louis, and about the young people who attended. Sponsored by InterVarsity Christian Fellowship, the Urbana 06 conference provided as clear a focus on the social gospel as on preaching as important aspects of mission work.

It was also a stark motivator for a new generation to change the face and attitude of missions by finally tackling social crises that the suburban evangelical church has long been accused of neglecting: namely, the global AIDS pandemic, hunger and urban poverty.

What sets this globalized, “YouTube” generation apart, say evangelical leaders, is that their traditional message of “personal salvation” in Jesus more readily engages his gospel of social justice.

“You are the reformation generation — whatever it takes,” challenged Rick Warren, the iconic megachurch pastor from Southern California and author of the best-selling Purpose Driven Life.

Known for courting rock stars and foreign leaders in the fight against AIDS, Warren headlined a bevy of international speakers advocating an end to Westernized, “paternalistic” missions overseas, and even a backyard “reverse missiology” focused on America’s own cities.

The full article is well worth reading. It suggests that may young Christians are prepared to bring their evangelical fervor to such important social issues as AIDS and hunger, and to do so both at home and abroad, in a way that their parents’ generation has had difficulty with. Conservative evangelicals criticize the progressives for commitment to “the social gospel” as if that were incompatible knowing one’s need for God and being saved by grace through faith. Progressives criticize conservative evangelicals for having faith without works, and “being so heavenly minded as to be no earthly good.” In fact all of us know that both are necessary, but we can get so caught up in the arguments that we don’t get anything else done. These young people are willing to dispense with the arguments and get on with the work.

It was particularly interesting to see this article shortly after seeing this article from the Episcopal News Service. It reports on information from the Faith Communities Today 2005 Survey from Hartford Seminary. It’s an extensive study, but a good summary is available on line, and is well worth reviewing, too. Here are some of the results from the ENS report that struck me.

• Conservative Episcopal congregations were much more likely to have experienced very serious conflict during the last five years than moderate or liberal congregations (a similar, but weaker relationship was also discovered in the FACT 2000 study).
• [Among Episcopal churches] Predominantly liberal and somewhat liberal congregations are somewhat more likely to have experienced growth during the last five years than more conservative congregations.
• Congregations that change worship format and style are more likely to grow. More than half the congregations that use contemporary styles of worship have experienced substantial growth since 2000. Frequency is important as well: The more worship services a congregation holds, the more likely it is to have grown. Over half of the congregations that use drums and or electric guitars often or always in their worship services have experienced "substantial growth" from 2000 to 2005, the report says. "The relationship is fairly strong in the overall set of congregations, but considerably stronger among evangelical churches and weakest among mainline churches," according to the report.
• Congregations that have experienced major conflict are quite likely to have declined in attendance. The strongest correlate of growth is the absence of serious conflict.
• More important than theological orientation is the religious character of the congregation and clarity of mission and purpose. Growing churches are clear about why they exist and about what they are to be doing.

So, contrary to much of the rhetoric, and to the truism of the past generation that evangelical churches were growing specifically because of their evangelical theology, in fact in many churches, and especially among Episcopal churches in this study, it was the clarity of vision and mission that made the difference, and not one pole or the other in the theological debate.

Which brings me to ask this question: are we fighting the last war? In our political discourse, and especially when we have a true fighting war in progress, we often worry about “fighting the last war:” facing new situations with poor preparation because it was based on the last, inevitably different, conflict rather than on the facts in front of the troops. So, we worry about whether difficulties in Iraq have been caused by trying to revisit the jungles of Viet Nam or the political ideologies Cold War in the heat and drought of the Iraqi desert.

So in our current difficulties in the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Communion: are we fighting the last war? Are we defending positions of high church vs. low church, of Evangelical vs. Anglo-catholic, of biblical faith vs. social gospel, when the real action has largely left those considerations behind? I have often seen it stated in discussions of social and political opinions that many folks younger than me are not particularly concerned about who one loves or how. We might take our positions and argue about whether that is progressive or regressive; but have we appreciated that it is simply fact? And have we considered that young and enthusiastic Christians are prepared to accept and share the faith that is in them without investing in our arguments?

I think it’s important for us to think about in the midst of those things that trouble us. We take our positions and defend them. We choose our champions who will defend them for us. We seek those champions among our known leaders, peers and seniors who have established themselves in these arguments in the past. Perhaps we need once again to look for leadership in a new direction. After all, it was God’s word, and not our own, that “a little child shall lead them.”

Coincidence and Vocation

Susan Palwick, who is kind enough to read my blog with some frequency, included this sentence in a comment on my last post: “I often find these experiences more scary than reassuring, but at the same time, they're evidence that God doesn't consider me too cracked a clay pot to use.”

This reminded me of a conviction I’ve had for some time. All of us are called to serve God. Some are called to serve God directly in prayer and contemplation. Some are called to serve God indirectly in serving neighbor. Some are called to serve by providing God some comic relief.

I have one consistent experience over the years with this analysis. Everyone I have ever suggested this to (myself included) has immediately responded that he or she was in the third category.

Coincidences

Sunday morning I was called into the hospital. A patient had died in the Emergency Room, and I was needed. I was needed primarily to address issues of tissue donation, because the patient was apparently eligible to donate. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived it had been determined that in fact he wasn’t. Staff were apologizing to me for calling me in, and trying to figure out who had miscued.

In fact it wasn’t a bad call. In the first place, the family’s needs were sufficient for a chaplain call, even though they didn’t request it. There were family issues that would complicate the grief. I was glad to be there to help

(Let me say that as a chaplain in a one-person department, for the sake of self-care and the care of the volunteers who support me we do not respond to every death. We encourage staff to ask whether the family wants clergy called, and if they don’t, whether they want a chaplain called. The staff also have autonomy to make a referral based on their sense of need.)

And the surprise – more of serendipity, perhaps – was the voice rising from a gurney as it passed me: “Hi, Marshall.” It was the voice of a colleague, the rector of a local Episcopal parish. Now, it’s never really a good thing to meet a colleague when he’s a patient. But, for a priest to be in the Emergency Room on a Sunday morning has a special sense of need. Many of us are perhaps fools; but many of us would do all we could to ride out the Sunday services and then get help. Fortunately, my colleague has a wife who is not a fool. She called 911 and he became a patient.

We spoke about the events leading to his admission. He certainly realized he needed to be there, although at the moment he was feeling a little antsy while he waited to learn the results of the tests he’d had, and what tests still awaited him. Then I asked him about his late service. He had two capable deacons preparing, as he said, “to do something,” and they had the sermon he had written in preparation for the morning. I said, “Would you like me to take the service?” The grieving family had taken their leave, and I didn’t have another engagement. He was grateful, and I left to celebrate his second service.

So, from a call that hadn’t quite happened as it was supposed to, I had the opportunity to give care to a family, to a colleague, and to a congregation. It was a remarkable coincidence.

Of course, we have all heard someone respond to that word saying, “I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in God-incidences.” And while I haven’t dismissed the possibility of coincidence (and I don’t believe God micromanages), I have had enough of these experiences to appreciate them when they come. I get called when I shouldn’t, or when there’s nothing for me to do in the primary case (the family didn’t really want a chaplain, or leaves as soon as the patient dies, or the patient and family aren’t Christian and are sensitive about it). And almost inevitably when that happens I am led to another opportunity, one that is important and immediate. As I said, I haven’t dismissed coincidence as a concept; but those certainly seem like “God-incidences” to me. And I’ll take’em when they come.

On Life After GOE's

There have been several references in the Episcopal blogosphere today of the beginning of the GOE’s. Perhaps the best comment I’ve seen so far has been over at the blog Gower Street. There Jason has listed “Father Jason’s Tips for Taking the GOE’s (redux-redux).” It’s an excellent post.

I was struck particularly by tip #7: “Don’t pad.” It took me back to my own canonical exams, almost twenty-six years ago now.

Note that I say “canonical exams:” I didn’t do as well on GOE’s as I had hoped. Indeed, I was considered deficient in Scripture, Theology, and Ethics (notwithstanding that in the objective multiple-choice section of the GOE’s I scored well above the mean in all areas). Now, my bishop and canon to the ordinary were supportive, pastoral, and encouraging. (I remember my bishop, then a member himself of the Board of Examining Chaplains, saying, “We tell them not to be snide!”) Both told me that my answers were fine, and my readers inadequate.

That did soothe me somewhat, but it didn’t change the fact that the deficiencies had to be addressed. In my diocese at that time, that meant taking written canonical exams, prepared and evaluated by the diocesan examining chaplains, in May. Some complained that this was a “double jeopardy” arrangement. It was presented to me, and I really embraced it as “double opportunity.”

There were, of course, other events going on in my life. The most important was a decision, supported by my bishop, to undertake my first CPE residency, beginning the fall after my graduation from seminary. There were some things I needed to learn that I felt could best be learned in that environment. My bishop was sufficiently supportive as to continue the small but important diocesan contribution to my expenses while I was taking this additional year of training.

There was, however, one consequence of this decision on my canonical exams. The canonical exams took place during a retreat for new ordinands. It was also during that retreat that new deacons-in-training would meet their new rectors and learn about their new jobs. Since I wasn’t going that route, there would be no one to meet.

So, in due time we came to the evening in question. It was midweek, and was, in fact, Wednesday. The bishops (Ordinary and Suffragan) were both coming, along with my colleagues’ new bosses. I had completed my exams in Theology and Ethics, and had nothing to do for the evening. So, at the cocktail hour (such things used to be more common at clergy meetings) I had an extra drink. And at dinner that night (steak, in recognition of the bishops) I had an extra glass of wine. (Yes, the mathematically inclined will recognize that indicates at least two of each.)

I was just beginning to savor that extra glass of wine when the Canon to the Ordinary spoke up. He was to my left, sitting with the Canonical Examiner in Scripture. “Mr. Scott!”

Now, this was unusual address. The Canon and I were on a first-name basis, and had been for some time. I was immediately aware that what was coming was a matter of some solemnity. “Yes, Reverend Canon?”

“Mr. Scott, the Examiner in Scripture and I have been discussing your circumstances this week. As you are not meeting a new rector, you have nothing scheduled after you complete your exam in Scripture, and a subsequent oral exam with all the examining chaplains. You are scheduled to take your exam in Scripture tomorrow morning with the candidates for the diaconate. However, if you will commit to us not to reveal any of the contents of the exam, the Examiner says he will allow you to take the exam tonight. He will grade it tonight, and we can schedule your oral exam for tomorrow morning. Once that is over you will be done. Mr. Scott, would you like to take your exam tonight?”

I paused for a moment, and stared at that one extra glass of wine. I wasn’t usually particularly foolhardy. I could feel my cheekbones tingling. However, in that moment I wanted badly to get one with things. I said, “Yes, Reverend Canon, I would like that very much.” Then I began to knock back cups of coffee.

One thing I had learned well before that night was that whether or not there was truth in wine (“in vino veritas”), I knew there was no BS in wine. That is, I knew I couldn’t pad when I’d been drinking, whether to dazzle with brilliance or to baffle with bull, as the saying goes. What I did feel confident of, however, was my ability to get the important facts down, if in a straightforward, declarative style that would overwhelm a newspaper editor. It probably wouldn’t be elegant, but it probably would do the job.

And so at 8:00 p.m. I was handed the test, a set of twelve questions, I think, of which I was expected to answer eight. I was told I have two and a half hours to complete my work, and sent off to the room where I had already set up my typewriter and paper. I did take with me one extra cup of coffee.

I sat down at the typewriter (an archaic device, children, with no screen, and no convenient way to correct mistakes), put in a piece of paper and looked at the first question. I had something to say about it, and so I began. I don’t remember too much about the test. I remember one question was, “Discuss the Synoptic Problem,” for which my answer began, “The Synoptic Problem is that the Synoptics don’t agree.” That wasn’t all I wrote, of course; but that was the style with which I wrote that night.

I wrote on enough questions. On those questions I wrote what I thought needed to be said, and not a word more. I had no more in me to write, although by the time I was done I was more tired but less tipsy. I looked at my watch when I felt done: I had written for an hour and a half. I knew I had another hour, but I didn’t feel another word in me. So, I tidied up and took my paper to the Examining Chaplain. He thanked me and promised to return it to me before Morning Prayer the following morning. I then went and found my Examiners in Theology and Ethics, both of whom had very good news for me, and a couple of extra drinks.

The next morning I was up and ready, waiting outside the chapel at 7:15 a.m., to meet the Examiner before 7:30 Morning Prayer. He was, as always, punctual. He said, “Good morning, Mr. Scott,” picking up again the formality of the previous evening.

“Good morning, Reverend Sir.” I waited, hardly breathing.

“Mr. Scott, I have completed grading your exam. I will allow you to see it, but I must have it back.” He handed it to me. At the top was the grade: A-. He went on to say, "I want to have it back because I want to show it to those who will take the exam this morning. I want them to see that the test can be answered adequately, and even well, and still be concise. You did very well. I only found one thing I had to count you off on. Although we know that the Holy Spirit does not have gender, it is still traditional to speak of the Holy Spirit as 'he,' and not as 'it.' " I handed him back the paper, and together we went into Morning Prayer.

Now, I don’t recommend this to anyone taking any exam. It is certainly not a strategy that I ever used otherwise. At the same time, it assured me of two things. First, there are opportunities even after such setbacks as bad GOE’s. For all the anxiety we had put into them, and for all the anxiety I had felt when I received my results, I had been able to use the grace of my diocese and come back. It was one of many experiences of grace in those early days of my ministry.

And second, I can claim to know more about Scripture drunk than most people know sober.