Some 26 years ago, in my first Clinical Pastoral Education residency, one of my periodic responsibilities was orientation of new nurses to working with chaplains. It was usually a straightforward process – some description of the work, of policies and practices, and how to access us, followed by a few questions, and then a pleasant farewell until we met on the floors.
One, though, stood out as different. In the discussion one new nurse spoke of a recent event when a chaplain had been requested and had not arrived. That was embarrassing enough; but was made worse when, reviewing the date and time, I discovered the errant chaplain was me! I made my apologies, discussed how we might improve the system, and finished the orientation. A couple of the other new nurses paused before leaving and whispered that the complaining nurse was “weird,” and had been “difficult” in other meetings, as if to apologize. However, the woman herself hung back, waiting with more to say.
She began with, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you; but there was a problem.” I simply agreed, and acknowledged that it was a legitimate concern. Then, she said, “I have something to show you.” She reached into her blouse and pulled out a pendant: a small cross with a piece of crystal embedded in it; and in the crystal, a small dark sliver. It was a reliquary! She said, “In the crystal is a piece of the true Cross on which Jesus died. It’s been in my family for 400 years!”
I will admit that the first thought to cross my mind was to recall a statement one actor or another had put into the mouth of Henry VIII in his monastery-busting phase; something to the effect that there were “enough pieces of the true Cross in Christendom to rebuild St. John’s in Lateran.” This, of course, I managed not to say to her. What I said to her was, “Wonderful! or “Amazing!” or something similar. When she offered, I held the reliquary gently. I showed proper respect for the small piece and thanked her when she promised to pray for me; and she went off to her next meeting, happy she had shared her holy secret.
It’s late tonight. The Feast of the Holy Cross is coming to a close; and if, as a Christian, this is not just another day to me, so even more as an Associate of the Order of the Holy Cross, an Anglican Benedictine order for men, this is a day I note.
And like virtually everyone else, I wrestle with exactly what to do with this day. Most of the major feasts of the Church recall or refer to events, usually events in the life of Christ or of the early Church. Christmas, Palm Sunday, Easter, Pentecost, just to hit the high points – all of these are events.
Most of the other “red letter days” of the Church recall persons. There are days for the twelve Apostles, for the four Evangelists, for Mary Magdalene, “Apostle to the Apostles.” and of course Mary the Blessed Mother (the August date; arguably, although she’s intimately involved, the Annunciation and the Visitation, to take two examples, are more important as events in the life of Christ).
But the Feast of the Holy Cross is the only major feast of the Church referring us to an object. I grant you, it’s not just any object; it’s the instrument of the death of Christ. Still, it’s neither an event nor a person. Just what are we to do with it?
MadPriest has posted a sermon for the Feast of the Holy Cross over at “Of Course I Could Be Wrong....” He argues that it is the crucifix that demonstrates the Cross in its full meaning – that the Cross empty of Christ is empty of meaning as well. But in this instance, I think he is wrong, as good as the sermon is. I think it is the cross itself, whether as crucifix, or Christ Triumphant, or simply bare, that hold our imagination.
I think that is indeed because it was the instrument of Christ’s death. But more to the point, as I think about it tonight I think it did make a difference what that instrument was. It did make a difference how Christ died.
It’s not that crucifixion was the only way the Romans could accomplish a slow, agonizing, public death. Read the stories of the early Christian martyrs and you’ll discover that Imperial Romans could be quite creative in making death lingering and painful. Throwing onto a heated pan or roasting on a grate were apparently common. Being thrown to savage animals in the public games, “breaking on the wheel,” and flogging were also popular. Jesus might have suffered a public and shameful death in any of those ways. And what then might our symbol have been? Various of the saints have included in their iconography, at least in the West, instruments of their deaths. We might have had fire, or the lion, or the wheel. We might have revered one of those, if only that were how Christ died.
But there is a significant difference, it seems to me, between the Cross and those other means of death. It is that the Cross itself is so very passive. Fire and lion and bull had already been chosen as religious symbols by various other traditions precisely because they so demonstrate power and strength. They are active, moving, with power to tear and break and consume. They were chosen because the made tangible strength and destructive power.
But it is not so with the Cross. It does not in itself break or consume. It stands, hard enough, strong enough, but it does nothing on its own. It is the weakness of the Cross that highlights the weakness of Christ, the weakness through which Christ was victorious of us and for our salvation.
After all, it wasn’t really the Cross that killed. What killed was gravity, and the very frailness of the human body in gravity’s grip. The Cross simply stood there. Certainly, its height was part of what made the tool attractive as a way of utilizing gravity. It was also significant in fulfilling Scripture that the Messiah should be “lifted up.” But the Cross itself was passive, immobile, weak in its own way. That was how it came to be the ideal setting for God to demonstrate the weakness he was prepared to embrace for us, with us. For it was in weakness that was found the strength to release God’s love into the world, and to begin the world’s re-creation.
That’s why, I think, the Cross, even the bare, empty Cross, still speaks to us of the all-giving love of God. Even the instrument of Christ’s death was one of weakness, of apparent impotence. Not only did Christ choose weakness instead of power; he chose to show it on an instrument of weakness instead of power.
These days, and in all days as near as I can tell, it is tempting to reach to power. All our arguments seem to fall into that, however we may pay lip service to service or to victimhood. That’s why I think it important that Christ died on a Cross, and that the Cross became the symbol for this faith, the faith in the One who in weakness managed to overturn the universe. Whether we see Christ on the Cross or not, the Cross itself still reminds us that it is through weakness that God has chosen to bring salvation: the weakness of a God who would love us enough to choose our death to bring us life; and the weakness of the passive, immobile, impotent object on which it occurred.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Praying Instead of Brainstorming
As I began this post, I was at clergy conference. I sat at dinner with my bishop. I reminded him, as I do each time I see him, "I'm still praying for you - for you and for all the bishops." He answered, as he does each time I tell him this, "Thank you. Keep praying!"
I do pray for my bishop daily, and for all Episcopal and Anglican bishops. I don't pray for most of them by name - my own bishop, and Katherine, and Rowan, and these days for Trevor - but I intend that all be included. I intend all "Anglican" bishops. And what of all the new bodies that take shape, and take off, leaving the Episcopal Church? In a positive counterpoint to the old movie line, I pray for them all, and let God sort it out.
And our bishops need prayer. The bishops of the Episcopal Church - or at least those with any intent to remain bishops of the Episcopal Church - are preparing to gather in New Orleans. They will, please God, work hard together, both manually in reconstruction work, and theologically and intellectually and spiritually in figuring out how to appropriately respond in these troublous times.
Before their Spring meeting I indulged in some brainstorming for the bishops. I haven't done that for this meeting, although others have. I did share one thought with my bishop over lunch, to wit that the Presiding Bishop on her own authority (that is, without consultation of foreign prelates) ask Bishop Mwamba of Botswana to serve as Primatial Vicar for dissenting parishes and dioceses. In light of recent events, I thought it perhaps ironic. My bishop seemed to consider it something of a grim jest. He gave a bleak smile (or was that a grimace?) and just said, "That's a dead issue."
It remains to be seen what other possibilities are "dead issues." The question was raised in my hearing as to whether there is a "loyal opposition" (as opposed to the clearly disloyal opposition), and it seems likely there is; but how that will be made manifest remains to be seen, not only in New Orleans, but also in subsequent other meetings at home and abroad.
Many and great expectations have been raised for this meeting of the Episcopal House of Bishops. Great expectations regularly result in great disappointment; and this time, too, I expect there will be more than enough to go around. And in the meantime - and I know I'm not alone in this - I will keep praying; I will keep praying....
Updated:
After my own bishop's comments on a Primatial Vicar designated by Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori, there is this item from The Living Church that speaks specifically to that issue. Very interesting....
I do pray for my bishop daily, and for all Episcopal and Anglican bishops. I don't pray for most of them by name - my own bishop, and Katherine, and Rowan, and these days for Trevor - but I intend that all be included. I intend all "Anglican" bishops. And what of all the new bodies that take shape, and take off, leaving the Episcopal Church? In a positive counterpoint to the old movie line, I pray for them all, and let God sort it out.
And our bishops need prayer. The bishops of the Episcopal Church - or at least those with any intent to remain bishops of the Episcopal Church - are preparing to gather in New Orleans. They will, please God, work hard together, both manually in reconstruction work, and theologically and intellectually and spiritually in figuring out how to appropriately respond in these troublous times.
Before their Spring meeting I indulged in some brainstorming for the bishops. I haven't done that for this meeting, although others have. I did share one thought with my bishop over lunch, to wit that the Presiding Bishop on her own authority (that is, without consultation of foreign prelates) ask Bishop Mwamba of Botswana to serve as Primatial Vicar for dissenting parishes and dioceses. In light of recent events, I thought it perhaps ironic. My bishop seemed to consider it something of a grim jest. He gave a bleak smile (or was that a grimace?) and just said, "That's a dead issue."
It remains to be seen what other possibilities are "dead issues." The question was raised in my hearing as to whether there is a "loyal opposition" (as opposed to the clearly disloyal opposition), and it seems likely there is; but how that will be made manifest remains to be seen, not only in New Orleans, but also in subsequent other meetings at home and abroad.
Many and great expectations have been raised for this meeting of the Episcopal House of Bishops. Great expectations regularly result in great disappointment; and this time, too, I expect there will be more than enough to go around. And in the meantime - and I know I'm not alone in this - I will keep praying; I will keep praying....
Updated:
After my own bishop's comments on a Primatial Vicar designated by Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori, there is this item from The Living Church that speaks specifically to that issue. Very interesting....
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Madeleine L'Engle and Me
I know that others have said more, but I wanted to raise my own personal tribute to Madeleine L’Engle. I believe she was an evangelist of no mean merit. The Episcopal Life Online article is here.
Most articles have referred to her book, A Wrinkle in Time. That was, in fact, the first of a trilogy, completed with the books, A Wind in the Door and A Swiftly Tilting Planet. These were books of fantasy, perhaps; but they were books in which struggling with and living into the Christian faith were real and meaningful. I somehow missed Lewis’ Narnia books – too old, perhaps, or perhaps just between surges of popularity. But my youthful interest in science fiction brought me to A Wrinkle in Time; and L’Engle’s writing brought me to the other books.
I have long appreciated science fiction that takes seriously the Christian faith, and of faith in general. I thought much of Clarke’s “The Star” and “The Nine Billion Names of God.” On the other hand, as an adolescent who so wanted to figure out how to be a Christian in my own time and culture, the Wrinkle in Time trilogy simply brought me more. I found Lewis’ Perelandra trilogy interesting (Out of the Silent Planet; Perelandra; That Hideous Strength), but they were in a sense too fantastic, too far out there for me to see their applicability. L’Engle, on the other hand, was right there with me. Certainly, the fact that the central characters were themselves adolescents meant something. But it was also, I think, that the faith was explicit in the stories. In the struggles I experienced in my life, that was important to me.
I know she meant much to many. This is what her work meant to me.
Rest eternal grant her, O God; and let perpetual light shine upon her.
May her soul, with the souls of all the faithful departed, by the blood of the everlasting covenant rest in peace.
Most articles have referred to her book, A Wrinkle in Time. That was, in fact, the first of a trilogy, completed with the books, A Wind in the Door and A Swiftly Tilting Planet. These were books of fantasy, perhaps; but they were books in which struggling with and living into the Christian faith were real and meaningful. I somehow missed Lewis’ Narnia books – too old, perhaps, or perhaps just between surges of popularity. But my youthful interest in science fiction brought me to A Wrinkle in Time; and L’Engle’s writing brought me to the other books.
I have long appreciated science fiction that takes seriously the Christian faith, and of faith in general. I thought much of Clarke’s “The Star” and “The Nine Billion Names of God.” On the other hand, as an adolescent who so wanted to figure out how to be a Christian in my own time and culture, the Wrinkle in Time trilogy simply brought me more. I found Lewis’ Perelandra trilogy interesting (Out of the Silent Planet; Perelandra; That Hideous Strength), but they were in a sense too fantastic, too far out there for me to see their applicability. L’Engle, on the other hand, was right there with me. Certainly, the fact that the central characters were themselves adolescents meant something. But it was also, I think, that the faith was explicit in the stories. In the struggles I experienced in my life, that was important to me.
I know she meant much to many. This is what her work meant to me.
Rest eternal grant her, O God; and let perpetual light shine upon her.
May her soul, with the souls of all the faithful departed, by the blood of the everlasting covenant rest in peace.
Friday, September 07, 2007
The More Things Change...: History and Ecumenical Discussions in Nigeria
I was intrigued by a news item noted today by Episcope. They linked to a UPI story about ecumenical dialog between the Church of Nigeria [Anglican Communion] (CN-A) and a Nigerian body called the African Church. There is a brief press release on the conversations on the CN-A web site, but there was more detailed information in the UPI story. (I would note, however that the UPI headline is misleading: the story is about introductory ecumenical discussions, with no stated goal of union between the two bodies.)
Intrigued, I dug a little and found more information on the web site of the Dictionary of African Christian Biography (DACB). Specifically, I found a biography by the Reverend Dr. Elijah Olu Akinwumi, of Jacob Kehinde Coker, a founder of the African Church of Nigeria. It lays out the early history of the African Church and its separation from the Church of England, expressed in the ministries of the Church Missionary Society (CMS).
The specifics of J. K. Coker’s life are interesting, and I can recommend reading this concise biography in full. However, I was struck by the issues over which J. K. Coker led a group out of the authority of CMS, and some interesting parallels with current Anglican struggles.
First, this was a movement that rose in reaction to the largely English leadership of the colonial church. Dr. Akinwumi writes of lack of respect for African clergy and lay leaders who were often better educated than their white colleagues and leaders. This reflected, as will not surprise, the racist conviction that no African could be as intelligent or able as a European, whatever his education; and that, therefore, ministry could not be left in African hands. (The paper includes some striking, and damning, quotations.)
The controversy came in the context of Muslim evangelism in the country. According to Dr. Akinwumi, there was some connection between CMS leadership and racism and the success of Muslim expansion:
Where Africans led, and especially where Africans were able to make some accommodation to African cultures and practices, the Church grew. The CMS, on the other hand was not willing to make such accommodation.
And in that controversy, as Dr. Akinwumi notes, a significant issue was sexual mores, and specifically, polygamous marriage. As noted, the CMS took a hard line against participation in the Church by polygamist men (although the cause might just as well have been European racism and cultural imperialism, and not specifically to repress better-educated African colleagues). The new African Church, led by Mr. Coker, made more accommodation for polygamist men in the laity, although not, ultimately, in the clergy.
The critical moment in the formation of the African Church and its separation from the Church of England came on October 13, 1901. Mr. Coker seems to have been caught up in a difference between the English bishop, one Bishop Tugwell, and his African assisting bishop, Bishop James Johnson. Coker was People's Warden of St. Paul's Church, Breadfruit, in the area of Lagos. Bishop Tugwell thought Mr. Coker not sufficiently supportive of Bishop Tugwell's authority, apparently because Mr. Coker had relayed to the bishop concerns of some parishioners about a newly appointed priest. Mr. Coker thought himself bound by his position to forward these concerns to the bishop. From his subsequent actions, it appears Mr. Coker may have agreed with those concerns, although he may have simply disagreed with the authoritarian approach of Bishop Tugwell. In any case, on October 12 Mr. Coker resigned as Warden, and on October 13 a group of parishioners voted and decided to leave the St. Paul's and form their own congregation.
Dr. Akinwumi's description of the actions of departing parisioners is itself interesting:
Clearly, they distinguished between property of the Church of England and their personal property, and took only the latter.
Dr. Akinwumi reports that the division left Bishop Johnson publicly in tears, and that there were those voices of moderation, seeking some delay from Bishop Tugwell so as to provide time for those moderates to perhaps persuade dissenters to stay. However, despite pleas from those moderates, and from “all the priests in Lagos,” Bishop Tugwell refused. Even as he installed the new priest, the dissenters were meeting to form their new body.
Once established, the African Church under Coker’s leadership began to reach out to other independent Nigerian Churches. Coker advocated intercommunion among African churches, even though they differed over whether it was acceptable for clergy to be polygamous. Coker felt there was enough in common for them to worship together. However, others in African Church leadership disagreed, and ultimately most of these discussions were unsuccessful. However, the African Church did continue, and does continue so as to enter now into ecumenical conversations with CN-A.
As I read this history, I couldn't help but be struck by the resonance with current Anglican arguments, once again being expressed in Nigeria. The conflict between European/Western and local African cultures in the Church, and issues of colonies, imperialism, and racism; the expression of those differences in issues related to marriage; the concerns of competition with Islam; the differences between international and local Church leadership; decisions over Church property; and efforts to unite local, like-minded Christian bodies are all markedly parallel. In truth, "everything old is new again;" or, as the Preacher said, "There in nothing new under the sun."
Is there anything to learn from this? I don't really know. Certainly, it is worth attention, but there are also arguably differences. But perhaps there is one thing to learn, or at least to hope for. It's been 106 years since that first group left the Anglican Communion to form their own. It's taken that long for two bodies of Nigerian Christians with a common heritage to enter ecumenical discussions. Now we're concerned about the Anglican Communion as we have come to know it. Provinces of the Communion are highlighting differences and taking stands, with Nigeria notable among them. Changes at this point seem inevitable; separations and realignments seem certain. We can all pray that it won't take us 100 years and more to start talking again.
Intrigued, I dug a little and found more information on the web site of the Dictionary of African Christian Biography (DACB). Specifically, I found a biography by the Reverend Dr. Elijah Olu Akinwumi, of Jacob Kehinde Coker, a founder of the African Church of Nigeria. It lays out the early history of the African Church and its separation from the Church of England, expressed in the ministries of the Church Missionary Society (CMS).
The specifics of J. K. Coker’s life are interesting, and I can recommend reading this concise biography in full. However, I was struck by the issues over which J. K. Coker led a group out of the authority of CMS, and some interesting parallels with current Anglican struggles.
First, this was a movement that rose in reaction to the largely English leadership of the colonial church. Dr. Akinwumi writes of lack of respect for African clergy and lay leaders who were often better educated than their white colleagues and leaders. This reflected, as will not surprise, the racist conviction that no African could be as intelligent or able as a European, whatever his education; and that, therefore, ministry could not be left in African hands. (The paper includes some striking, and damning, quotations.)
The controversy came in the context of Muslim evangelism in the country. According to Dr. Akinwumi, there was some connection between CMS leadership and racism and the success of Muslim expansion:
“As stated earlier, the European missionaries quickly detected the brilliance of Africans and feared that they would be ousted if care was not taken. A series of repressive measures were therefore taken to discourage African workers. Stringent rules and regulations were introduced into the church regarding polygamy, baptism, confirmation and marriage which kept many traditionalists from coming forward for baptism. Islam spread more quickly in areas such as Abeokuta, Ijebu, Lagos and Ibadan where Europeans stayed for many years, as opposed to areas like Ilesa, Ondo, Ekiti, Niger and the Delta region where Africans pioneered the work….”
Circumstances like this opened the eyes of African Christians to the contemptuous attitudes of the European missionaries towards them and therefore paved the way for movements of autonomy.”
Where Africans led, and especially where Africans were able to make some accommodation to African cultures and practices, the Church grew. The CMS, on the other hand was not willing to make such accommodation.
And in that controversy, as Dr. Akinwumi notes, a significant issue was sexual mores, and specifically, polygamous marriage. As noted, the CMS took a hard line against participation in the Church by polygamist men (although the cause might just as well have been European racism and cultural imperialism, and not specifically to repress better-educated African colleagues). The new African Church, led by Mr. Coker, made more accommodation for polygamist men in the laity, although not, ultimately, in the clergy.
The critical moment in the formation of the African Church and its separation from the Church of England came on October 13, 1901. Mr. Coker seems to have been caught up in a difference between the English bishop, one Bishop Tugwell, and his African assisting bishop, Bishop James Johnson. Coker was People's Warden of St. Paul's Church, Breadfruit, in the area of Lagos. Bishop Tugwell thought Mr. Coker not sufficiently supportive of Bishop Tugwell's authority, apparently because Mr. Coker had relayed to the bishop concerns of some parishioners about a newly appointed priest. Mr. Coker thought himself bound by his position to forward these concerns to the bishop. From his subsequent actions, it appears Mr. Coker may have agreed with those concerns, although he may have simply disagreed with the authoritarian approach of Bishop Tugwell. In any case, on October 12 Mr. Coker resigned as Warden, and on October 13 a group of parishioners voted and decided to leave the St. Paul's and form their own congregation.
Dr. Akinwumi's description of the actions of departing parisioners is itself interesting:
Those who had any money belonging to the church paid whatever they had collected. They then went into the church to remove their personal belongings including the cushions they had on their seats. They abandoned the idea of sending a telegraph to London to inform the home church about what was going on because it would constitute a delay. In their opinion, they had moved out of Breadfruit and had formed a new church on the 13th of October, 1901 though they had no idea where they would meet.
Clearly, they distinguished between property of the Church of England and their personal property, and took only the latter.
Dr. Akinwumi reports that the division left Bishop Johnson publicly in tears, and that there were those voices of moderation, seeking some delay from Bishop Tugwell so as to provide time for those moderates to perhaps persuade dissenters to stay. However, despite pleas from those moderates, and from “all the priests in Lagos,” Bishop Tugwell refused. Even as he installed the new priest, the dissenters were meeting to form their new body.
Once established, the African Church under Coker’s leadership began to reach out to other independent Nigerian Churches. Coker advocated intercommunion among African churches, even though they differed over whether it was acceptable for clergy to be polygamous. Coker felt there was enough in common for them to worship together. However, others in African Church leadership disagreed, and ultimately most of these discussions were unsuccessful. However, the African Church did continue, and does continue so as to enter now into ecumenical conversations with CN-A.
As I read this history, I couldn't help but be struck by the resonance with current Anglican arguments, once again being expressed in Nigeria. The conflict between European/Western and local African cultures in the Church, and issues of colonies, imperialism, and racism; the expression of those differences in issues related to marriage; the concerns of competition with Islam; the differences between international and local Church leadership; decisions over Church property; and efforts to unite local, like-minded Christian bodies are all markedly parallel. In truth, "everything old is new again;" or, as the Preacher said, "There in nothing new under the sun."
Is there anything to learn from this? I don't really know. Certainly, it is worth attention, but there are also arguably differences. But perhaps there is one thing to learn, or at least to hope for. It's been 106 years since that first group left the Anglican Communion to form their own. It's taken that long for two bodies of Nigerian Christians with a common heritage to enter ecumenical discussions. Now we're concerned about the Anglican Communion as we have come to know it. Provinces of the Communion are highlighting differences and taking stands, with Nigeria notable among them. Changes at this point seem inevitable; separations and realignments seem certain. We can all pray that it won't take us 100 years and more to start talking again.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
What General Convention Has Done: Mental Health
There's a good post by George Clifford, a colleague over at Episcopal Cafe, with a good reflection on a Christian understanding of mental illness, and how we might respond to it. I commend it to your attention.
As we watch the rising political conversation on access to healthcare in the United States, let's pay attention to this issue. For some time there has been controversy and struggle over "parity:" insurance coverage for mental health treatment on par with coverage for physical health treatment. With higher co-pays and lower lifetime spending limits, few insurance programs offer mental health and addiction coverage that is adequate, much less on par with coverage for physical illnesses and injuries. Because mental illnesses are often chronic rather than acute, coverage limitations throw victims and their families into the public health system - if there are any resources for them even there - or, as George notes, into the penal system.
General Convention has spoken to this. In 1991, Resolution D088 called on "members of the Episcopal Church... to become knowledgeable about mental illness in order to reduce stigma and stereotypes which are prevalent within the Church body and the Community-at-large;" and "to reach out, welcome, include and support persons with a mental illness, particularly those who have a prolonged, serious mental illness, and the families of those persons, and recognize the abilities and celebrate the gifts of those who have a mental illness...." It also called for programs to care for the mentally ill, both in the community and in institutions, and to prepare clergy to provide appropriate care. Finally, it called for all of us to "become advocates for public policy and adequate funding to provide comprehensive community-based services, hospital care and research into the causes and treatment of mental illness...."
As we prepare to vote next year, and to include health care provisions in our considerations, remember the needs of those suffering mental, behavioral, and addictive disorders, and those who care for them. We need to become part of "those who care for them." As George notes, it's a good Christian thing to do.
As we watch the rising political conversation on access to healthcare in the United States, let's pay attention to this issue. For some time there has been controversy and struggle over "parity:" insurance coverage for mental health treatment on par with coverage for physical health treatment. With higher co-pays and lower lifetime spending limits, few insurance programs offer mental health and addiction coverage that is adequate, much less on par with coverage for physical illnesses and injuries. Because mental illnesses are often chronic rather than acute, coverage limitations throw victims and their families into the public health system - if there are any resources for them even there - or, as George notes, into the penal system.
General Convention has spoken to this. In 1991, Resolution D088 called on "members of the Episcopal Church... to become knowledgeable about mental illness in order to reduce stigma and stereotypes which are prevalent within the Church body and the Community-at-large;" and "to reach out, welcome, include and support persons with a mental illness, particularly those who have a prolonged, serious mental illness, and the families of those persons, and recognize the abilities and celebrate the gifts of those who have a mental illness...." It also called for programs to care for the mentally ill, both in the community and in institutions, and to prepare clergy to provide appropriate care. Finally, it called for all of us to "become advocates for public policy and adequate funding to provide comprehensive community-based services, hospital care and research into the causes and treatment of mental illness...."
As we prepare to vote next year, and to include health care provisions in our considerations, remember the needs of those suffering mental, behavioral, and addictive disorders, and those who care for them. We need to become part of "those who care for them." As George notes, it's a good Christian thing to do.
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