John 1:5-- "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness could not overpower it." In the Episcopal Church, in the world, and in the personal lives of many people I know and love, there is much that is discouraging, but at the heart of all things, there is the invincible joy that only Jesus gives.
Not too long ago I found out that eunoia is the shortest word in English that contains all the vowels—unless you want to count iouea which is a genus of creataceous fossil sponges, which is the shortest four-syllable word in English. However, I don’t count it; it’s too obscure and eclectic. Of course, eunoia is neither.
When I found out that eunoia means “beautiful thinking”, my devotion to the word was sealed. I suppose it could be translated “good thinking”, for its component Greek words are eu (good) and noia (thinking).
The first word is found in eucharist—thanksgiving, another name for the Mass; it literally means “good gift”, eu charism. It’s also found in the word Tolkien coined: eucatastrophe—some awful thing that happens that turns out to have been a necessary occurrence for a tremendous blessing. If eu goes beyond “good” to meaning “beautiful”, though, what new meaning is put into these other familiar words: “beautiful gift” and “beautiful catastrophe”.
Noia, according to the very smart Micah Snell, is the participial form of the Greek verb noeo, which means to perceive, to think, to suppose, etc. It is a very deep verb obviously related to nous—which is equivalent to “mind”.
Micah points out that metanoia is thus an “after-thought”, whence it readily becomes “repentance”; and paranoia is “beyond thought”, or derangement/madness.
Good thinking can mean thinking logically or maybe even being able to add inspiration or creativity to logic, thereby coming to a result that not only makes sense but is pleasing. Beautiful thinking, though, says that and more. It recognizes that “beauty” is a quality or virtue in things themselves—that the concept of “beauty” is not merely a subjective evaluation, i.e. a matter of opinion, but is a reality inherent in the order of things. The difference is of incalculable significance.
To think “beautifully”, then, is to be able to use one’s mind in harmony with the order of things. It’s a great Buddhist or Taoist concept, but best of all it’s a striking Christian concept. It means laying aside the “sin which clings to closely” (Hebrews 12:1), which is “crouching at the door” (Genesis 4:7), whose desire against us must be ruled over. The mind is the first spiritual battleground, for whatever evil we commit must begin by being thought about and then consented to.
We regularly confess that we have sinned against God and our neighbor in “thought, word, and deed” (Book of Common Prayer, pages 331, 360); I hope that most serious Christians are able to identify sins of “word” and “deed” pretty effectively, but sins of “thought” may be more difficult to identify, for they occur only within our own minds; no one hears them and no one is affected by them—at least not directly or observably. Sins of thought include inner pride, lustful fantasies, contempt of others, dreams of wealth and luxury, “what I would do if I ruled the world”, whining and self-pity, daydreams of manipulating people to suit our wishes and pleasures, entertaining vortices of thoughts of self-righteousness and holding grudges against people, refusing to forgive others or ask forgiveness from them, attributing attitudes and motives to others that permit us to hold them in contempt, and the like. These things are all muddy thinking that lead to perverse and wicked thinking and mental acts of the rebellious will—decidedly unlovely and unattractive. Ugly.
Eunoia, then, beautiful thinking, is where virtue begins, for eunoia cannot abide ugly thinking. Beautiful thinking is what results in genuine love and strength. Paul commended eunoia when he wrote, “whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Philippians 4:8). This does not mean, “daydream about these things,” but rather, “put these things into your mind as the basis of your life,” for when whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise is at home in one’s mind, there cannot be much room for anything that is false, underhanded or manipulative, prejudicial or partisan, debased, ugly, perverted, exploitative, rapacious, or shameful.
Eunoia is the shortest word in English that contains all the vowels. Vowels are sounds that are neither truncated nor hard. Vowel sounds can last as long as there is breath to make them. Select the “voice” option in a synthesizer and you get the vowel sounds of “ooh” and “aah” to express wonder and joy and excitement. “Eunoia” has all the vowels wrapped up closely. I’m committed to it.
For any traditional believer or traditional congregation in the Episcopal Church, these are dark and grievous days. News is abundant and widespread of persecution of traditional believers, and continuous and progressive rejection of traditional beliefs and practices by the leadership of the Episcopal Church. Many traditional Episcopalians are well-versed in these apostasies and travails, and have developed facility in doom-saying and disparagement.
Nevertheless, it is unbecoming of Christians to let these things be uppermost in our life, for life in Jesus is always joyful and full of hope that does not disappoint. It seems good to me to remember and recount some of the great strengths of Anglicanism. Though they have not always been foremost in our tradition, and are mostly the exception today (at least in the Episcopal Church), these strengths are fundamental to the heart and life of Anglicanism.
At the time of the Reformation Anglicanism succeeded in actually “reforming” itself, i.e. it maintained the riches of the undivided Church while purifying its doctrines and practices. Because of this, for example, Anglican laity have a place in leadership; we recognize saints in the original, “old fashioned” way; we permit pious opinions to differ on lesser doctrines; and we allow priests and bishops to marry. Anglicanism is neither authoritarian nor congregational. Anglicanism was one of the first Communions at the time of the Reformation to restore the liturgy to the language of the people and the only one to emphasize and balance both Word and Sacrament. Its liturgy remained Catholic but became accessible to the laity.
Anglicanism is known for beautiful liturgy; there are few services more beautiful than Anglican cathedral Evensong. Anglicanism is known for producing good music and has produced some of the best hymn writers and musicians in the history of the Church. Anglicanism is known for “good taste”, at its best being neither too maudlin in its prayers, nor too shallow in its teaching, nor too sterile in its theology.
Anglicanism has the humility never to have claimed to be “the” Church, but rather has striven to be the via media, the “middle way” that is attractive to Christians of many different styles and backgrounds. Therefore Anglicanism was able to recognize the strengths and gifts in each of the fragments of the broken Church, and was the first to exercise leadership in ecumenical matters, striving to bring Christians of differing churches, backgrounds, and convictions into unity.
Anglican missionary practice is to move leadership to indigenous people as quickly as is practical. Anglicans are consistently good financial givers. The best Anglican theologians are parish priests and educated laity rather than academics or monastics—that is, our understanding of theology is grounded in daily life rather than “ivory towers”. At its best, Anglicanism does not compromise the truths of revealed and received Christianity but lives them out in pastoral situations—that is, in the daily lives of the faithful.
Anglicanism is truly comprehensive, able to live from time to time with anomaly for the sake of truth. Anglicanism values moderation in all things, thereby becoming able to see the “whole picture”. Anglicanism values the place of the human mind and reason in educating and shaping people into sanctity. Questioning is encouraged not to make a virtue out of doubt, but to provide the occasion for deep conversion and formation of individuals and communities.
Anglicanism is centrally Scriptural without being either unthinkingly, rigidly fundamentalistic or tolerant of a disregard for Scriptural authority. Anglicans produced the King James Version of the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer. Most of the great renewal movements of the past few centuries that have influenced many other churches originated in Anglicanism. Many of the greatest preachers of past centuries have been Anglicans. Many of the most influential and effective teachers, writers, and workers of the Christian world over the past few centuries have been Anglicans. Off the top of my head I can think of C. S. Lewis, George MacDonald, Charles Williams, T. S. Eliot, W.H. Auden, Florence Nightingale, William Wilberforce, William Law, Richard Hooker, John and Charles Wesley, John Donne, and George Herbert.
There may be some readers of this blog who will want to post a response listing the many exceptions and violations of these principles, or postulate that what I have written is mostly a nostalgic remembrance of past glories that are no more. They may be right; time will tell. Even if they are, however, I think it is good to remember the glories of our heritage, for what is not of God will fade, and what is true will be preserved. There is much in Anglicanism that is true for all time, not found very often in other churches, and which we must make sure that traditionalists do not permit to slip away because we are too busy complaining.
Recently I received this comment as a response to my blogpost of July 27, “Blessed Sacrament Decides”:
The strength of the Anglican Communion is its diversity and inclusivity, as well as the freedom to dissent from the powers that be. Schism, even if based on conscience, is inconsistent with that. In reaching the accomdation that you did, you failed in your duty as a leader and rector. You can - and should - vociferously express your disagreement with TEC policies. You also can - and should - encourage your parishioners to express dissenting views from yours. Your job as Rector is create an atmosphere of unity through enforcing respect for the differing opinions that will always be present in a truly Anglican communion. It is that diversity, that tolerance of disent, that makes us Anglo, and not Roman, Catholics.
The writer was a parishioner of Blessed Sacrament for several years, and moved away roughly twenty years ago. Although he stated that he was responding to the blogpost, the assertions and accusations he put into his comments show that he’s not familiar with what we have published or what we are doing—and not even aware of what the blogpost said. As I read what he wrote, I scratched my head wondering if he had even read what he claimed he’s responding to.
His comments tell me what I can and should be doing; these statements puzzle me since I have been doing these very things in the parish for over thirty years. He should know this first-hand from his time as a member of this parish; I DO encourage parishioners to share their convictions when they differ from mine and from each other. This individual was certainly allowed a place in our parish life without being muzzled in any way, and stayed with us for many years—comfortably, I believe, and hope.
Read my print: This parish is NOT going into schism, and we have consistently rejected that course of action, and repeatedly explained why. Further—along with most of the Anglican Communion—this parish has vociferously and publicly rejected the escalating and continuing apostasies of the Episcopal Church. We will not accept them and we will continue to protest them, though it is evident that the leadership of the Episcopal Church is swelled up with monstrous arrogance and determined to keep the pedal to the metal as the institutional juggernaut (not the same thing as the Church) hurtles along the downward slope toward unrecognizablity. A report on the state of the Church prepared for the General Convention provides a number of telling points: 1) The Episcopal Church is rapidly losing members; 2) The Episcopal Church has to cut back its budget severely because of diminished income; 3) the biggest reason for this is conflict in The Episcopal Church over its revisionist policies and practices; 4) full speed ahead!
The writer mentioned “freedom to dissent” and “tolerance of dissent” as a strength of Anglicanism. “Tolerance of dissent” can mean a number of things. When it means living charitably with anomaly as things settle out, it is a vital Christian virtue well described in theory and practice in the New Testament. If it means letting people hold beliefs and maintain practices inconsistent with the faith of the Body, then it is abdication of leadership, which is powerfully condemned in both Old and New Testaments. Genuine leadership must show both clarity and mercy. This is notably different from espousing “inclusivity”.
Further, the often-touted “inclusivity” of the Anglican Communion in general and the Episcopal Church in particular has rarely existed in real life. From the days of the English Reformation, Anglican authorities have consistently and strongly persecuted every renewal movement that arose from its ranks. (For details see the article I wrote for “The Living Church” years ago called “The Myth of Anglican Tolerance”.) Unless I am wrong, the term “inclusivity” has not been claimed by or applied to the Anglican Communion; it is a term only recently devised in the Episcopal Church to apply to itself. Watching recent history unroll leads me to conclude that this term, dubious from the beginning, was used to hoodwink the trusting faithful and manipulate them into thinking of themselves as “open minded” by tolerating the “revisionists” who sought positions of influence in the Episcopal Church. Once the “revisionists” had enough votes, one didn’t hear about “inclusivity” much any more—instead one heard about “conformity”, with serious consequences for not adhering to the “doctrine, discipline, and worship of the Episcopal Church”, which obviously meant whatever those who had the votes could install without regard to any recognizable elements of generally accepted and authoritative Christian doctrine, discipline, or worship.
For a decade or two or more, many Episcopal bishops and other authorities have persecuted bishops, priests, parishes, missions, and lay leaders who disagreed with their revisionist ideology, and violated canon law and even basic principles of fairness and ethics to do so—none more openly, egregiously, and arrogantly than the current leadership. A genuinely liberal and charitable bishop, such as Bishop Jon Bruno, is the rare exception.
Moreover, the sloganistic words “diversity” and “inclusivity” have little or nothing to do with the Christian faith of the New Testament, which is the foundation of our life. Diversity and inclusivity are valuable principles only when they are expressive of the much richer and deeper Christian virtues of firm adherence without compromise to revealed truth, lived out in powerful charity. When these convictions are held, then “diversity” and “inclusivity” do not need to be mentioned, for they are already being done. I don’t think you can even find these words in the New Testament—you find much more powerful and richer words than “diversity” and “inclusivity”. How can one be more inclusive than to “preach the Gospel to every creature”? When one is committed to preaching to every creature, one doesn’t have to repeat how “inclusive” one is being. The very appellation “Evangelical” requires “inclusivity”. And how can one be more diverse than “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female—you are all one in Christ Jesus”? Being incorporated into Christ does not obliterate or ignore these real differences, but rather affirms the uniqueness and value of each believer and revels in the differences that make up the one Body. The very appellation “Catholic” requires “diversity”.
If “diversity” and “inclusivity” are not part of the evangelical and Catholic Gospel, then they are little different from masks for allowing people to believe whatever they want without standards of discernment or authenticity. Recently the principles of “diversity” and “inclusivity” have been the catchwords of narrow and tyrannical ideological rigidity: “The Episcopal Church is inclusive, and the authorities will tell you what that means; if you don’t agree, you will be put out.”
If holding to these principles implies “failing in my duties as leader and rector”, then I am unrepentantly guilty. However, I call it “keeping the faith”, and the good fruits of that faithfulness are abundant at Blessed Sacrament—a parish that welcomes and accepts all people, and holds up a standard of the fullness of faith and the call to holiness without compromise.
This past week has been physically and emotionally rough, due to brutal side effects from some medication I had been taking and probably also cumulative stress through almost unmitigated overwork and overstimulation. Because of these things I missed the ordination of a friend and parishioner that took place in another state where I had been scheduled to preach, an event I had looked forward to for a several years. That grieved me and angered me, but during the week I also had some enforced quiet moments, although rarely far from electronic communication like email.
Electronic communication is, or can be, very exciting and beneficial. I’ve definitely been extremely blessed by email, websites, online searches, etc., in ways that I could not have known without electronics. I’ve made new friends, found old friends, collaborated on and written books, and studied online. But electronics are like the sea, at once incredibly wonderful but also unrelenting and destructive, pounding even rocks into sand. For months, I have been sleepless well into the night, my mind whirling with messages I’d read or needed to respond to or to initiate, not to mention what St. Paul calls the anxiety of the church(es). (I only have one, he had dozens.) Ministering to people, administering the ministries of others, wielding the sword of the Spirit, jumping into crises, teaching, nurturing the weak and fallen, lamenting the departure of both pilgrims and victims, welcoming neophytes, evangelizing the searching and the resistant, etc. etc. Not to mention seeing to my own spiritual health.
During this past week I realized that there is a lot in my life that is under my control—probably a whole lot more under my control than most people have the privilege of enjoying. I realized that I had allowed myself to become too busy, too pent up with too many things that demand my attention. Too many emails logging in at both home and church, more than I can give proper attention to. Etc. This is not a new lesson, by any means; there have been previous occasions in which I’ve learned that lesson and changed myself because of it—but stuff has a habit of creeping in, and patterns of life change, so that “accumulation” looks different from what it did before.
I took on this blog almost three years ago at the request of a number of people who wanted to see what I’d write, and while it was (and is) fun and cathartic and (I hope) useful to some, it also took time. I like these entries to be reasonably well written, even though if they’re read at all, like a newspaper they’re quickly out-of-date and rarely if ever referred to again.
Then I took up Facebook a few months ago. Not so much “quality writing” is expected, but a lot of information can be put out there and a lot can be read in a short time. Facebook is shorter and busier than a blog. I like it.
But when I found that Twitter is about 144 characters at the most (or whatever) to allow people to whip snippets of information to crowds of other twitterers, I snarled and refused to participate.
Then a day or so ago this verse from Job came to me: “Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stayed” (Job 38:11). The “you” in that passage did not refer to me but to the things that would overwhelm me if I let them. So I drew a line and took back some control. I realized that sometimes what God wants is for us to NO into all the world.
So now I will refuse to let things overwhelm me. Here shall their proud waves be stayed. I’m taking this on as my new “Job” description. Sadly, some emails will not get answered—not because I don’t want to answer them but because I just can’t. Those that do get answered may not get the polished writing I’ve tried to maintain. Even this blogpost is not going to be carefully sculpted and polished. Twitter can go blow. I won’t read church emails on my day off, and whenever possible I will shut down the electronics early in the evening.
My favorite time of the year is autumn. The nights are mild, often there is a very light breeze. There is beautiful music to be listened to in dimness. There is a wife to spend time with. There is a God to be simply enjoyed. Enjoying him is better than constantly serving him. Jesus called it the “best part”. I hope that by committing to this new direction I am being a better pastor than before; I think it’s good Christian living and a good example to set for others. If anyone doesn’t think so, be sure to send me an email about it.
Blessed Sacrament Church in Placentia, California is an active and healthy Anglo-Catholic congregation in the Diocese of Los Angeles. Our membership of roughly 350 people includes many who have been in the parish for decades, as well as a considerable contingent of young families with children and dozens of college students from missionary and evangelical backgrounds. We have had about half a dozen vocations to ordination in the past four years, with two more currently in process. At the moment there are six priests (five of them part-time non-stipendiary) and one vocational deacon on staff. The theology of the parish is generally that of Forward in Faith or the American Anglican Council. Several people of decidedly different convictions are also active members. For us, holding to the revealed truth of the Gospel is an uncompromised principle, and unreserved love for all people is a standard. In these times of the hijacking of the Episcopal Church we have always rejected discouragement and defensiveness. On the contrary, rather than see ourselves as a place beleaguered, we are intentional about being a family where love, truth, joy, and light in Jesus prevail regardless of circumstances.
The Discernment Committee of Blessed Sacrament was formed well over two years ago. The Committee was comprised of about twenty volunteers. They were to be members of the parish who took the issues seriously but had not already decided what we ought to do. I charged the committee to make a recommendation for our future and provided several axioms for their work: they were to pray through their labors; all meetings were to be open; our Bishop, Jon Bruno, would be kept informed; only verified first-hand sources would be used; everything would be done in charity; no action that could involve lawsuits would be contemplated (since Scripture forbids that course); individuals representative of various convictions in the Episcopal Church would be invited to share in face-to-face discussions; and there would be no deadline.
In the course of the discernment, our Vestry met twice with Bishop Bruno, who offered us another bishop to serve as our pastor under the provision for Delegated Episcopal Pastoral Oversight. We accepted that offer, and the Bishop of Northern Indiana, Ed Little, began to serve us in that capacity about a year ago. Bishop Bruno also suggested that we redirect our Mission Share Fund to causes both he and the parish could wholeheartedly support, and we accepted that offer as well with the understanding that we would be given credit for paying our Mission Share Fund in full. Without going through the diocese we now support international missionary work, the scholarship fund at Nashotah House seminary, and local charities.
When the Discernment Committee drew near to the completion of its work, it had emerged that three courses were open to us: to remain in the Episcopal Church, to align with the emerging Anglican Church in North America, or to seek some sort of arrangement with the Roman Catholic Church. Most members of the parish were drawn to one of these three options. On the one hand, it was quite evident that no one of these three options appealed to the entire parish. On the other hand it was also quite evident that nearly all the people were determined to retain the unity of the parish family—that is, most wanted to remain at Blessed Sacrament. We had come to an impasse.
In December of 2008 I suggested to the parish in a sermon that we adopt a plan in which all three options could be followed to the benefit of all. Three general meetings of the parish this spring responded to that sermon and applied the Committee’s work into setting a direction.
We recognized that putting the decision to a vote would be disastrous. Voting assumes from the beginning that there must be a division with “winners” and “losers”. We rejected any decision in which there could be winners and losers. We determined that, rather than voting, our model for decision-making would be that of the New Testament—to come to the point where we could say, “It seems good to the Holy Spirit and to us” (Acts 15:28). By that, we meant that we must come to a godly consensus in which everyone could say, “I can live with that.” With that commitment, clarity emerged. We believe that our decision may be unique in the cheerless and escalating stresses of these times.
The way forward came to look like this, although details still have to be worked out: most of our people will remain in the Episcopal Church under the DEPO arrangement. A significant number of others will remove themselves from the Episcopal Church and align with the emerging Anglican Church of North America but continue to connect—as Anglicans—with Blessed Sacrament. We are currently investigating several attractive ways of doing this that will strengthen all the faithful rather than weaken either group. A few people—perhaps fewer than a dozen—will enter the Roman Catholic Church (some have already done so) and receive sacramental ministrations there while also retaining their participation at Blessed Sacrament. When all three groups have settled in to who they are, the parish will deepen and expand its ministries, especially those of education, evangelism, fellowship, and outreach, to ensure that we remain bound together in spite of the different courses our people have chosen. All ministries will continue and be done jointly/ecumenically.
One Episcopalian from a local parish said to me recently, “I hear that you’re dividing your parish up into groups.” I responded, “No, it’s not that at all. We are intentionally not dividing. What we’re doing is diversifying.” We remain a single family with an expanded sense of membership. The canonical key to the success of this approach is the recognition that the property of a parish is in the exclusive hands of its Rector. If a Rector can permit groups not connected with the parish to use the facility for a number of reasons, then certainly he can allow a group of non-Episcopal Anglicans to use the facility for worship and ministry. And if that group worships at the same time as the “Episcopalians” and shares the same ministries, there is nothing whatever in the canons that forbids it—and nothing that can prevent it, either.
I have been clear that those who follow what we are calling The Stand Firm Option—remaining in the Episcopal Church—must refuse to appear as if they are merely “accommodating” to the apostasies of the Episcopal Church or are hesitant to “make a stand”. Rather, those in the parish who “stand firm” are bearing witness within an apostate body; they follow the example of Amos and Jeremiah and Ezekiel and other prophets whom God called to bear a witness of fidelity and challenge to a rebellious house. “Whether they hear or refuse to hear (for they are a rebellious house), they will know that a prophet has been among them” (Ezekiel 2:5).
I have also been clear that those who follow what we are calling The Anglican Option—leaving the Episcopal Church for the Anglican Church of North America—must refuse the choice merely to “quit”. From the earliest years of the tensions, I have consistently rejected the sadly common but always ill-fated rationale, “their heresy demands our schism”. Schism is not an answer to heresy; it is in fact one form of heresy itself, just as heresy is one form of schism. Those in the parish who follow the “Anglican option” are like those who “remove the dust from their feet” when they depart from those who refuse the Gospel. With those who are creating the Anglican Church of North America, they are building an ark for the faithful before the storm comes.
With such an understanding, both “stayers” and “leavers” bear effective testimony—“speaking the truth in love”. Both courses are clearly Biblical, and it is obvious (I hope) that God calls different people to different vocations so that his will overall may be achieved. Both courses require courage and conviction, and both work best when they work together.
The decision has not satisfied every member of the parish. A few have expressed their regretful intention to leave the parish toward the end of the summer. One can never please everyone; though I believe that the reasoning I have heard from those who are leaving the parish is seriously flawed, I do not know everything about how and when God speaks to people or what his complete will is for them, so I shall see that the partings are amicable.
There are a few individuals who are troubled or grieved by the course we have chosen, yet the time to choose had come. “Not to decide is to decide”—and not to decide is usually to decide poorly. I think that the great majority of our members are confident of a new beginning and a more solid parish than we have been, and I am hopeful that those who are not will find that their fears will not be realized. The influence of the General Convention Church has pretty much been stopped at the borders of Blessed Sacrament, except for those concerns brought inside by our own members. At the same time, such influence as we have goes forth and bears fruit. I am delighted that attendance at Blessed Sacrament is significantly up over last year at this time, the money’s not too bad, even during the summer, and the morale seems good. I am feeling quite positive personally.
One young member of the parish wrote to me in mid-June, “I was doing lectio one morning last week in the Ephesians 6 passage about the armor of God, and the part about spiritual forces of wickedness made me think about the spiritual wickedness at work behind the actions of the Episcopal Church, and how the current mess is a spiritual battle playing out. And I had this image of Blessed Sacrament, tiny amid the black clouds that were swirling about her, but bright and protected by a bubble that the darkness could not penetrate, standing firm against it as Paul exhorts us to do. And I felt this sense of calm, like I didn’t need to worry about the future of Blessed Sacrament because God was taking care of her. I know you've basically been saying this for years... but now I think I believe you :-)”
It was intensely gratifying to receive this message. It was, I think, at least in part, a sign that the strategy I had described in this post was bearing fruit. Discernment is rarely, if ever, easy, and there are many alluring but false paths that appear throughout the process that must be carefully weighed, identified, and rejected. Having avoided a number of pitfalls during our discernment process and come to a decision that I believe is Scriptural, godly, logical, and unassailable, after the way forward was set I was filled with an overwhelming calm.
In that place I was ready for the General Convention of the Episcopal Church, which met July 8-17 ten miles from us in Anaheim. (General Convention is the body that sets course and policy, etc. for the Episcopal Church. It meets every three years. It is the General Convention that has made so many decisions over the past few decades that have caused immeasurable harm to the Episcopal Church and the wider Anglican Communion.)
Our parish provided about ten or a dozen volunteers to work either at Convention or in one of the exhibits. I myself served seven shifts as a volunteer. One reason I wanted to volunteer was to acquire first-hand information. Although I didn’t witness any of the decision-making process, I read many of the proposals that were acted on, and participated in several “behind the scenes” discussions as I worked. I was also an usher for four of the Convention Eucharists.
At the end, I drew a few conclusions. On the positive side, I was impressed at the effective organization. The Convention was well run. I also met many friendly people. Some of the Eucharists I attended were, to my surprise, well done, and the preaching I heard was mostly good. One sermon in particular was excellent. It was full of Jesus and a traditional interpretation of Scripture.
The main purpose of the Convention, however—to make decisions and set policy for the Episcopal Church—was predictably disappointing. With many traditionalists no longer present, it was a foregone conclusion that the Convention would follow the same direction as the injudicious decisions it has made in previous decades. A new and significant insight began to come to me in one discussion I had with a group of volunteers; it came out that many of them had gone to very prestigious universities: Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth, Stanford, etc. Yet it was apparent that not one of them knew how to think critically, much less theologically. One priest even said, “Well, I’m not an expert in the Bible.”(!) (“Logic!” said the professor, half to himself. Why don’t they teach logic at these schools?” —C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, chapter five)
Even the official statistics provided in the Blue Book for the General Convention—the manual of information and business matters—show that the Episcopal Church at large continues to diminish in size, and those same statistics show that the primary reason for the waning of the Church is decisions the General Convention has made over the past thirty years and the resulting conflict in both congregations and dioceses. Further, the same statistics show that many faithful congregations and dioceses are thriving. Yet very few deputies or bishops seem to get the obvious lesson. The General Convention Church’s budgets are being cut; it continues its commitment to litigation against other Christians without accountability for the funds spent for the purpose; its “gospel” is reduced to incantatory “justice” issues and “building God’s kingdom reign on earth”. What may be called “the General Convention Church” appears to be lurching into free fall.
At the risk of drawing a conclusion from anecdotal data, I surmised from the discussion I heard and (much more so) from the result of the votes, that the General Convention is so unaware of the realities of both world and Gospel that it has become pretty irrelevant and therefore powerless. I found it ironic that as soon as the revisionists had finally achieved nearly complete control over the decision-making process of General Convention, they lost power to affect or do much. Who really pays attention now to what decisions the General Convention of the Episcopal Church makes? Just about no one but the revisionists themselves. While admittedly some very good ministry is being done, generally the Episcopal Church is a faltering juggernaut of the liberal 1960s with traits of coming collapse: rapidly diminishing membership most of whose youngest members are about in their forties, and declaiming ideals that are increasingly ossifying. One deputy wondered if they were becoming the “fundamentalist left”; they are certainly no longer genuinely liberal. Only ruin awaits if they “stay the course”—and there is no sign that any other option is even envisioned, much less considered. [NOTE: For an excellent comment on this paragraph and my response to it, please see the second and third comments on this blogpost.]
It struck me that my remarks to the Convention of the Diocese of Los Angeles in 2006, about being prophetic to those who had claimed to be prophetic, were coming true. The Church that had touted itself in 1992 as being a Church of “no outcasts” has self-contradictorily engaged in “theological cleansing” of traditionalists to the point that its inherent fatal flaw has become obvious. While publicly proclaiming a commitment to “inclusivity” and “valuing a variety of views”, etc., the revisionists are put into a bind whenever that means actually making a decision in support of any traditional position. I.e., “inclusivity” as a party line in the “new Episcopal Church” is really an untenable position for them since, in fact, the General Convention Church is intolerant of traditional positions and therefore cannot be inclusive as they define inclusivity. To put it another way, those committed to a partisan position (i.e. “the General Convention Church”) in spite of a claim to be inclusive, etc. cannot really be generous, i.e. cannot live with anomaly and be true to their own partisanship. By cleansing themselves of traditionalists, they have put themselves into a position where they cannot survive except by repentance.
Orthodoxy, in sharp contrast, is truly generous and can live with anomaly as truth is being discerned. This means that only the orthodox can be truly liberal. Any attempt at liberalism without orthodoxy will fail in both. Whatever is true and loving will always remain. That’s why I named this blog JohnOneFive: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness could not overpower it.”
In 1993 while on sabbatical I wrote a book called Love Stronger Than Death. In three parts, it tells what Christians believe about eternal life, provides case histories of a number of real people to whom I ministered as they faced death, and describes the blessings God provides to Christians in the time of grief.
Today I ran across this photograph for the first time—one of the most moving images I have ever seen. To the eyes of faith, it displays almost everything I wrote in my book of about 85,000 words. Archaeologists judge that the couple was buried 5,000-6,000 years ago, their arms wrapped around each other in an eternal embrace.
Reuters released the photograph on February 6, 2007. Experts believe that the prehistoric pair were a man and a woman who died young, as their teeth were intact. An initial examination of the couple revealed that the man (on the left in the picture) has an arrow in his spinal column while the woman has an arrowhead in her side.
The skeletons were found at an archaeological dig site near Mantova, Italy. Five thousand years ago the area was marshland crisscrossed by rivers. The tribes of the area thrived through hunting and fishing, and traveled along the waterways in boats. The burial site was discovered during construction of a factory building. The slab containing the skeletons has been preserved entire.
We can never in this life know the story behind these remains, yet whatever the details of their unknowable story, their tale is something that people of any age and time can understand.
From a poem by George Herbert (1593-1633) Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, Nothing but bones. … But since our Saviour’s death did put some blood Into thy face, Thou art grown fair and full of grace…
Here is where I first ran across the photo. No better place to see it first, I think...
When I was about six years old, my mother was driving my two younger brothers and me somewhere. I think we had just finished a visit to my grandparents and were returning home. Suddenly my mother was taken with a migraine and had trouble seeing. She pulled the car into the parking lot of a small grocery store and bent over the steering wheel, her eyes tightly closed and her forehead wrinkled in pain. She said that she needed a sudden infusion of sugar to give her some quick energy. At least I think this is how things were; I don’t remember exactly.
But I do remember very well that she asked me to go into the store and buy her a candy bar. She was not able to do it herself. She reached into her purse and then handed me a nickel—that’s what candy bars cost in the fall of 1954.
I swelled with pride that she had entrusted me with this errand of signal consequence. Relieving her of pain and saving the journey home had become my responsibility, mine alone, without an adult to watch over me. Clutching the nickel, I dashed out of the car and sprinted into the store. I picked out a candy bar and took it to the checker. Excitedly and proudly I set it down on the counter with the nickel beside it.
“That’ll be six cents,” the checker said.
I still remember the feeling of utter collapse that dropped my insides into ruin. I had been punctured. I had failed in my mission. A sense of shame began to wash over me.
Before the feeling of disgrace had time to grip me fully, a man behind me pushed a penny across the counter. “Here,” he said. For me it was as if a film of a collapsing building began to run backwards—everything went back to normal, and I could once again anticipate returning to the car in triumph, the prize in my hand.
I don’t remember if I thanked the man. I don’t remember if he were young or old or anything else about him. I can only see again his right hand with the forefinger extended, pushing a penny toward my nickel. Of course, he had no inkling that I was on a mission to save my mother; he could only have thought that I was a kid buying candy for himself. He could not have known the full implication of his good deed.
Even I didn’t know at the time the full implication of that deed, but I never forgot that kind act done well over half a century ago; I have brought it to my mind many, many times since. His act of spontaneous thoughtfulness and kindness to a child—being only a penny, I don’t think it can be called “generosity”—to a stranger, a little boy, changed me thoroughly, from the inside out. From that incident I learned, in a very practical way, that love of neighbor means love of stranger, and must be shown in particular actions.
As I grew older and continued to remember this incident, I grasped the reality that God can do things of immeasurable good with even the smallest of gifts. Over ten years ago, I began to remember that man in my prayers regularly, thanking God for him. In this life, he never knew that his gift of a penny had changed a life. I cannot overestimate the blessings I have received from that gift. As I look back, I realize that from that moment I have tried to be kind to children, never knowing what effects doing so could have.
Move ahead fifty years or so. About three years ago I was standing in line in a store. In front of me a teenage girl was paying for her purchase. The checker said, “You’re a penny short.”
Instantly I lit up, and I could almost literally feel myself swelling up with portentousness. Like a bolt, I was certain that my moment had come. Excitedly, almost frantically, I plunged my hand into my pocket to bring up a handful of coins. I knew that I had several pennies.
And then the checker said, “Oh, forget it.” I was stunned with dismay and struck speechless at the lost opportunity. If I’d been a bit more with it, I’d have cried out, “Wait! Wait! I’ve got a penny here! You have to take it!” And I would have told the story.
But the moment was gone. The girl said a perfunctory, “Thanks,” and walked toward the door. Emerging from my fleeting stupor, I smiled to myself ruefully. A penny in 1954 is worth twelve or thirteen cents in today’s money, I suppose. These days if we see a penny in the road or on the sidewalk we rarely stoop to pick it up, though I guess most people would pick up a dime.
Of course, it wasn’t the penny. I wanted to give where I had been given to—not to make things equal or release some kind of moral debt, but to return a favor—to treat another as I had been treated. If I had been able to get a penny out of my pocket in time, would it have changed the girl’s life as my life had been changed? Not very likely. Had I pushed a penny across the counter for her, I would have felt that I had gone “full circle” and become like the man who had blessed me so mightily and so unknowingly when I was a little boy. I would have felt deeply connected to him and been doubly blessed by his gift.
But it wasn’t necessary. I have been enormously blessed by many hundreds of people over the years of my life, and I am confident that I have been a means of blessing others in my turn. There can be no “record-keeping” of such things. I will never, ever forget, though, the first time that the lesson was impressed on me. The gift of a stranger’s penny changed the course of my life. God bless him.
P.S. Coin collectors who look closely may catch something noteworthy in the above scan of the penny.
One of the oddest sayings of Jesus is, “Where the body is, there also the vultures will gather” (Luke 17:37b). In context, Jesus is teaching his disciples about the Day of Judgment, with the refrain, “one will be taken, and the other left.” When he finishes his teaching his disciples ask, “Where, Lord?” Jesus answers with the enigmatic, “Where the body is, there also the vultures will gather.”
Umm…what does that mean? Well, I don’t know, but here’s a thought. If “the body” refers to the Church, the Body of Christ, then in this world it will always be assailed by vultures, right up to the Day of Judgment. On that day, “one will be taken, the other left,” but until that day, the Church will be under attack. And so it has been and is. The Church militant, the Church on earth, almost always “gasping for life” in a hostile world, will be surrounded by the harbingers of death, eager to rip its carcass.
It’s not a negative attitude. On the contrary, when the Church is under attack we can be pretty certain that we’re doing something important, something effective, something that bothers the attackers. The pattern is so remarkably obvious throughout Scripture and history that the wonder is not that it is so, but that the attackers just don’t get it. “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church”, etc. etc.
During the Sudanese war (1983-2005), when government troops tried to eradicate the Christians in the south, they displaced over four million people and killed more than two million others—over a million of them Christians. And during this time, the Church grew seventeen-fold! —from 5% to 85% of the population. “Way to go, persecutors! Thanks for furthering our evangelism, as you dumbheads always have.” Okay, okay, “love your enemies” and so forth, but loving them doesn’t make them any the less dumbheads.
A few people have mentioned to me recently that they are alarmed to learn that evil has entered the Church. My answer: Duh. The household of God is always under attack. The list of examples in Scripture is too long to put into a blogpost, not to mention the list of examples from the time of the Ascension, forward. The New Testament is full of conflict bent upon the Church, from inside it as well as from outside. “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it,” said Jesus.
I think it’s pretty cool that when Jesus said, “The gates of hell shall not prevail against it”, it implies that it is hell’s gates that are being assailed by the Church, and not the Church being assailed by the minions of hell.
In my profile on this blog, I wrote, “Probably I was a mystic and a theologian from my earliest years.” What I mean by that is that as far back as I can remember I had a powerful sense of wonder that made me want to see beyond the edges of the world, beyond matter, beyond the realm of the senses, where I was convinced there was something of supernatural beauty to be found. “Want” is far too weak a word; I was enamored of the concept of the quest for beauty, driven to find whatever was just out of reach, for I knew it was the source of the joy my heart longed for and knew must exist.
Because I had parents that took me to church I was pretty convinced that what I sought was God, whom I believed was close to me, in my very room, but whom I could not see. I wanted to see him. Sometimes I wanted that more than anything. I could sit and look at rain falling, or the patterns of leaves in a tree, or clouds at sunset, and believe that he could be found somewhere in those things. I was convinced that there was more to what only my senses could take in.
Because of this longing, from my earliest years my favorite hymn was “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence”: in the words of this beautiful hymn, mortal flesh is commanded to keep still and silent as the divine Presence draws near from infinite realms. Now that I have lived more than six decades, that choice has never changed, though other hymns have come close and for the same reason.
Youtube has several versions of this hymn. One good one is here, in which an orchestra and choir sing it at a Lutheran church near St. Louis at Christmastime. There is also a haunting version here, accompanied by a photo montage of ethereal beauty.
Near, so near, yet always just out of reach. I have mentioned on this blog before (see Garden) the little book I found in the early 1970s that introduces prayer to children. In it one chapter begins with these words: “There is a painting in Tissot’s Life of Christ, illustrating the verse from Solomon’s Song, ‘he looketh forth at the windows, showing Himself through the lattice’, in which you see, amid tall sunflowers, the Face of the white-robed Christ gazing through an Eastern trellis.” (The verse is Song of Solomon 2:9. Tissot's four-volume set of watercolors and sketches of scenes in the Holy Land was published in 1909.)
As soon as I read this part of the book for the first time, I looked in my seminary library and was pleased to find a copy of Tissot’s book. More than thirty years later, for my 54th birthday, a member of my parish gave me the first volume of this now rare and expensive book as a gift. I scanned that particular image and now use it in my devotions.
It is the symbol of my great longing, which I have long known is the desire to be one with Jesus. Though he is the overwhelming Presence who descends to mortal flesh, he is also the Friend who peers in at the lattice of my home, seeking me out. Because he is both in my heart and the One whom my heart seeks, he is both my Satisfaction and my Desire.
If anyone reads this blog, I apologize for not posting for such a long time. I have at least a dozen ideas for posts, and I hope to put them up in a more timely manner.
I said, “Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. I would flee to a far‑off place and make my lodging in the wilderness” (Psalm 55:7-8). Every time I read this verse in the psalms in my daily devotions it tugs at me a little bit. From my earliest memories, far-off places have appealed to me. At first I think it was a wish to escape pain and avoid risk, but it was also, and mostly, a desire to come to the edge of the abyss that was the mighty, immeasurable ocean of the love of God. I pictured myself as a small boy going alone somewhere far off as far away as I could, and then standing on tiptoe reaching up as high as I could toward roiling clouds.
As years passed, I gradually came to realize that the “far-off” place could be found very close to me. It was in parks. It was in gardens. It was in the Blessed Sacrament that I could take in my hand and could give to others. It was in my memories. It was in my relationships. It was in the people closest to me, whom I love. Finally I realized the obvious—that it was everywhere.
Just a few days ago I came across a love song called “Al di là”, from the 1962 Italian movie, “Rome Adventure”. I find it movingly beautiful. I found a clip from the movie on youtube where the song is sung. In the clip we learn that “al di là” means… well, one scene in the clip explains it:
“What does ‘al di là’ mean?”
“It means… it’s kind of hard to explain. ‘Far, far away.’ ‘Beyond the beyond.’ ‘Beyond this world.’ That’s how much he loves her in the song.”
I guess that’s a good explanation for finding the love of God. It is “al di là”. Like God himself, it is something that is both so far off that it is “beyond the beyond; beyond this world” while at the same time it is as close as every moment of one’s life. In theological terms we say that it is simultaneously “transcendent and imminent”. It means that we can hold the universe in our hands—that we are forever in the measureless love of God.
When I was in seminary, one of the professors commented on the well-known line in Psalm 23, “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4b, KJV), and pointed out that the shepherd had both a rod and a staff. The staff, the traditional “shepherd’s crook”, was designed for leading, turning, or redirecting a sheep. The “hook” part at the end tenderly snagged a sheep going in a wrong direction and gently brought it back to safety.
The rod, however, was for those sheep that were defiant or purposely wayward. When the staff was not effective, the rod provided a clearer, unmistakable message that was hard to ignore or defy. Both rod and staff showed the shepherd’s care for the sheep as the sheep required; both, therefore, provided “comfort”.
Recently I was presented with two items. A member of the Vestry (church board) gave me a turnbuckle. I had seen one of these before but didn’t know what it was called. He said that a turnbuckle is a piece of hardware used for pulling together two walls that are bending outward from the weight of the roof over them. Without correction, they will eventually buckle and collapse, bringing down the roof. A turnbuckle joins two cables, each of which is connected to one of the walls. Tightening the turnbuckle gently but inexorably pulls the walls back to the vertical.
The person who gave me the turnbuckle told me that sometimes ministering in a church can be like that. The ministry of responsibility for leadership is often pressed to bring together people or parties of different convictions so that the congregation doesn’t collapse but rather enabling both sides to “pull together”, thereby becoming more true to themselves and so work for the common good.
A day or two after I received the turnbuckle, a family in our parish’s martial arts program gave me a bo for Christmas. A bo is a six-foot staff used as a weapon. Although a bo is usually made of hardwood, this particular gift was made of hard bamboo—for ceremonial or demonstrative purposes rather than actual combat.
The donor had had the fruits of the Spirit incised in Chinese characters on the bo. The fruits of the Spirit—“love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” (Galatians 5:22)—are recited by the students at the beginning of each karate class.
Putting both these gifts together, it occurred to me that they were rather like the rod and staff of Psalm 23. The turnbuckle, like the staff, is a symbol of gentle correction. The bo, if I were so inclined, could be used as a “rod”—a stubborn student could be “thwacked” with the bo on the forehead, leaving the imprint of the suitable fruit of the Spirit. After the application, I could advise the individual, “Now go look at yourself in the mirror and meditate on the fruit of the Spirit you lack!” Doubtless such a student would be “comforted” by the application.
Some sensitive readers of this blog might object to the notion of a student’s being thwacked. To those well-intentioned but misguided bleeding-hearts, I ask whether they would prefer that I take a shepherd’s crook and yank people around by the neck. I don’t think so.
Besides, in these days when people by the gazillions are paying good money to get tattooed and pierced, who’s going to complain about a thwack on the forehead? Additionally, for the few days when the imprint remains visible on the student’s forehead, probably plenty of people will ask, “What’s that thing on your forehead?” –and that will provide the student with a grand opportunity for evangelism: “That’s the Chinese character for ‘kindness’; it comes from the Bible. The Bible is about Jesus. Let me tell you about Jesus…”
And what is more comforting than the truth about Jesus?
