Monthly Archives: May 2024

Centering the Oneida in the Story of the Episcopal Church in Wisconsin

Posted on by
Reply

On May 4, the three Episcopal dioceses of Wisconsin met jointly at the Ho-Chunk Gaming in Baraboo for a convention at which each diocese would vote on the proposal to reunify the three dioceses. I had been involved in the so-called Trialogue and I was curious to see what would happen. But more than the vote on reunification, I was curious about something else, namely how the story of the Episcopal Church in Wisconsin would be told and how that story would contribute to the future identity of the church.  Finally, the moment I was waiting for arrived. No, not the announcement of the voting results, although that was a historic moment of great significance. For me the most powerful moment, a taste of spiritual transcendence, came earlier, during the convention Eucharist. After the post-communion prayer and a brief pause for silence a lone voice was raised to sing the Te Deum in the Oneida language. I had read about the Oneida Singers. I had heard recordings of the Te Deum and I knew of the tradition that the Te Deum was sung at all conventions of the Diocese of Fond du Lac. It was a historic day and the inclusion of the Te Deum sung by descendants of the first Episcopalians to arrive in what is now Wisconsin bore powerful witness to the complicated history of the Episcopal church in Wisconsin and the United States.

As I have reflected on that moving experience and on a day full of excitement and joy, I began to wonder what difference it might make if the story of the Episcopal Church in Wisconsin was centered on the Oneida story rather than on the stereotypical denominational history of arrival, institution-building, and now decline. Unlike most white settlers in Wisconsin, the Oneida came largely against their will, forced from their homes by land speculators and westward expansion. They built the first Episcopal Church in Wisconsin, continued to worship and to pass on their faith to later generations. Deacons and priests were raised up from among them and they carried their faith with them as they moved and were forced to assimilate. The larger Episcopal community honored and protected them, most notably by leading the resistance to their removal from Wisconsin to Indian Territory in the late 19th century. But it is a story that is largely unknown by most Wisconsin Episcopalians. Certainly when I’ve mentioned it to most Wisconsin Episcopalians, they express amazement and wonder to learn of the Oneida connection. A collection of essays sheds important light on the relationship of the Wisconsin Oneida and the Episcopal Church: The Wisconsin Oneidas and the Episcopal Church: A Chain Linking Two Traditions.

To center the Oneida experience in the story of the Episcopal Church in Wisconsin complicates the narrative, exposing all the ways in which Episcopalians participated in settler colonialism and profited from the exploitation and expulsion of Wisconsin’s indigenous peoples. It would emphasize the reality that the church is a flawed, sinful institution, as any human institution is, even as it participates in the perfection and holiness of Christ. To center the Oneida in the Episcopal story in Wisconsin moving forward, it could help us overcome our presentist bias—the assumption that we know better than those who have come before us—and encourage us to build future communities that are better attuned to the limits of our perspective and knowledge. It might also encourage us to center reconciliation and restorative justice at the heart of our work and common life. It might also compel us to seek out other stories that have been forgotten, or suppressed, or ignored over the decades of our history. It might challenge us to consider how our unexpressed assumptions about the identity and mission of the Episcopal Church could be a detriment to the thriving of the Episcopal witness and charism in a rapidly changing nation and world.

Reflecting on the Trialogue and the Reunion of the Wisconsin Dioceses of the Episcopal Church

Posted on by
2

When I became an Episcopalian in 1992, I had little knowledge of the history and culture of the Episcopal Church. I was already familiar with the Book of Common Prayer, I had had several classmates in Divinity School who were preparing for the priesthood, and of course I knew a great deal about the emergence of the Church of England during the sixteenth century. But I had only the vaguest conception of the denomination, how dioceses were formed, the culture of the denomination, or the significant differences in the church in different regions of the country. 

That all changed when we began teaching at the University of the South (Sewanee), which is owned by the southern dioceses of the Episcopal Church, includes a School of Theology where I taught for a year, and has a distinctive theological and liturgical ethos. Eventually, we would move to South Carolina where the Episcopal Church has its own idiosyncrasies. Over the years, I would hear priests joke about the “biretta belt”—by which they were referring to unspecified dioceses in the Midwest that included Northern Indiana, Chicago, and the dioceses of Wisconsin. By then I also knew about Nashotah House, the seminary in Wisconsin but my impression of it was shaped by the long battles over the ordination of women and the full inclusion of LGBTQ+ people in the life of the church. I had a vague sense of the Anglo-Catholic culture of the Diocese of Fond du Lac. The bishop who ordained me, Dorsey Henderson, had been Dean of the Cathedral of Fond du Lac and was very Anglo-Catholic, and at some point I had heard something about the. Fond du Lac Circus (google it if you’re curious). 

Surprisingly, none of that really changed when I became Rector of Grace in 2009. I’ve only ever been on the campus of Nashotah House once in my fifteen years in Wisconsin. I don’t think I had met any clergy from either the diocese of Fond du Lac or Eau Claire except Bishop Gunther who was on the Board of Directors of the Wisconsin Council of Churches when I began serving. I did know about the failed attempt at the reunification of the Dioceses of Eau Claire and Fond du Lac in 2011 and there were comments from time to time from clergy and Bishop about the future of the Diocese of Eau Claire. 

When the Trialogue was announced in 2021, I was surprised at the initiative and somewhat excited about the project. I volunteered to help with the Trialogue and was assigned to the Task Force on Parish and Regional Engagement. We were assigned to hear from congregations, laypeople, and clergy across the state but it was also an opportunity to develop relationships with clergy and lay leaders from the other two dioceses. Two joint clergy conferences in 2022 and 2024 have also helped deepen those relationships. 

It’s easy to forget that we are part of a larger church, a diocese, the Episcopal Church USA, and the Anglican Communion. Many of us come to the Episcopal Church as adults. We are drawn to the liturgy, looking for a Christian community that shares our values and where we can experience the presence of God in Christ. The larger church rarely enters our consciousness except at times of conflict.  Few of us have participated in diocesan work. Even if we have heard of the Trialogue and of the upcoming vote on reunification, we may not care about it. It seems not to affect our parish life or our own spiritual lives. In addition, the Diocese of Milwaukee hasn’t had a permanent bishop since 2020 and Bishop Lee, who served as our Bishop Provisional, retired (again) last year. Our primary experience of the church is the local congregation and that’s not likely to change.

There is another important matter to consider. We have heard a great deal about the decline of mainline Christianity in the US and then more recently about the decline of Christianity across the board. Increasing percentages of Americans claim no religious affiliation at all and all denominations are reporting declines in attendance and membership. These trends were accelerated by the pandemic. In such an environment, what does the future of the Episcopal Church look like?

Unlike nondenominational churches that have no structural connection to other congregations or churches that have a polity (structure) based on congregational autonomy, we belong to the Episcopal Church. We are not independent. When I was ordained, I vowed obedience to the Bishop who was ordaining me and when I was installed as Rector of Grace Church, I reiterated those vows. We believe that our bishops are in the apostolic succession, an unbroken line of women and men ordained by the laying on of hands going back to St. Peter and to Christ. Bishops are a visible symbol of our participation in the church universal, the Body of Christ that consists of all Christians, living and dead, united by one common faith and baptism.

Still, does it matter whether there are one, or two, or three dioceses in the State of Wisconsin? Perhaps not in the larger scheme of things. At the same time, it’s important to remember that dioceses are required to do certain things canonically—to oversee the ordination process, to have and pay for a bishop. And there are also programmatic things: communications, outreach, congregational development. With limited financial and human resources, the three dioceses of Wisconsin are stretched thin as they try to conduct the business of the church. Reunification might free up some of those resources for new ministries and programs. We might be able to offer stronger support to small congregations that feel isolated. The proposal to have ministry regions and for the bishop to be in residence in each of those regions for several weeks each year might create opportunities for collaboration and connection on a local level that could spark new ideas and programs.

Christianity is undergoing a historical transformation in this country and the Episcopal Church is experiencing that transformation. What the Episcopal Church will look like in fifty years is anyone’s guess. Whether dioceses will even exist or whether the denominational structure that currently exists will survive in any recognizable form are open questions. What we can be certain of is that Christians will continue to gather in community to read and study scripture and to celebrate the Eucharist. Most of all, we can be certain that Jesus Christ will be present in those communities and that people will continue to experience the grace, love, and power of the Risen Christ. Those local communities are and will be a part of a larger reality, the Body of Christ, that unites us across space and time with all faithful Christians living and dead and strengthens us with the love of Christ that binds us all together as one.

Structure and Spirit: A Sermon for Easter 7B, 2024

Posted on by
Reply

May 12, 2024

We’ve been talking a lot over the last few weeks about things that are taking place across the Episcopal Church. There was the special convention last weekend where clergy and lay delegates from all three Episcopal Dioceses in Wisconsin voted to move forward with reunification. That decision will have to be ratified at the General Convention of the Episcopal Church that is taking place the last week of June in Louisville KY. There will be a lot more on the agenda of General Convention—including the election of a presiding bishop to replace Bishop Michael Curry, whose term ends this year. No doubt there will be talk of prayer book revision, or liturgical revision, always a hot-button issue in the Episcopal Church.

As I said in my sermon two weeks ago, most of us don’t pay close attention to the structures and governance of the church. We’re content to come to church from time to time, or quite regularly, and volunteer in some way to support our ministry and mission, whether that is through participating in worship or in one of our committees or groups, or at the food pantry or the Beacon. Most of us don’t like to think about the nuts and bolts of structure and governance and even if we are cajoled into serving on vestry, our church council, we serve our three-year term and never look back. For some, a term on vestry or as warden is enough to turn us off church forever.

Still, like any human institution, the church needs structure. And often we look back to scripture to help us shape our structures. And where better to start than with the passage from Acts we just heard? 

We’ve been jumping around in Acts during Eastertide and now we’re back in the first chapter. In Luke’s telling of the story, this takes place right after the ascension, which he relates both at the end of the gospel of Luke and here in the beginning of Acts. Typically, the lectionary omits the juiciest parts, in this case Luke’s version of Judas’ death; but it is Judas’ betrayal and death that accounts for what comes next and what we do hear, the choice of Matthias as an apostle to replace the betrayer.

It’s quite interesting that the lectionary editors chose to include this little episode in our reading from Acts this year, and that they placed it here, after we’ve heard the wonderful stories of the spirit’s movement—the Ethiopian Eunuch, and the story of Cornelius the Centurion, and before Pentecost, when again we hear a story of the movement of the Spirit.

But in today’s reading while we hear of the movement of the Spirit, it is to do something quite different, namely to provide for order, succession, and structure. It’s interesting to see that even at this early point, the disciples, Jesus’ closest companions, even as they waited for whatever might happen next, were making plans, preparing, setting some guidelines for how they would move forward. It would happen again, throughout Acts as new situations developed—when the community needed more people to help with all the tasks at hand, a group of deacons were commissioned to help distribute food and money to the needy among them. And later, when conflict arose over the relationship among Jews and Gentiles, a council of the leadership was called. Meeting in Jerusalem, they made decisions how to move forward in this new situation.

In addition to omitting the description of Judas’ death; the lectionary editors made one more significant omission. Had they included v. 14, the verse immediately preceding the specified reading, we would have learned that it was not just the eleven who were gathered in this upper room, there were about 120 people—women as well as men, and specifically including Jesus’ mother Mary. One of the themes of Acts, though perhaps one that has been often overlooked, is the important role played by women in the early decades of the Jesus movement, and we see that here as well. It’s the same group that is gathered when the Holy Spirit comes down like flames upon their heads, men and women together receiving that gift and power. 

The gospel reading offers another perspective on this dynamic. Here, we are meant to imagine the same room, probably many of the same people, but chronologically we are taken back before Christ’s crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, to the Last Supper.

In John’s gospel, Jesus speaks extensively to his disciples about his departure, preparing them for what is to come. In chapter 17, at the end of that lengthy discourse, Jesus offers what is often called the High Priestly Prayer, a conversation, not with his disciples but with God the Father. It’s fascinating what the disciples might have thought of this as they overheard this intimate conversation.

There are a number of themes that emerge from this prayer that Jesus offers to God on behalf of his disciples. The first is the inherent unity of Jesus and the Father, and because of the relationship between Jesus and the disciples, the unity of them with God. Jesus asks the Father to protect them “so that they may be one as we are one.”

Another theme of note is the world—the cosmos. It’s important to recognize all the different ways the cosmos is conceived in John’s gospel. Here we see a fundamental contrast between God and the world; the world is depicted as evil, a threat to the disciples. But even as we hear these words, we must remember other ways in which the cosmos is described: “For God so loved the world…” God loves the world, even in all of its brokenness.

There is one underlying motif that needs mention. We often think of our relationship with Jesus or with God, as a wholly vertical one—it’s about me and God, and my relationships with others might get in the way of that. But here the stress is on community—community of Christ with God, and community of the disciples with God through Christ. There is a horizonality to this relationship with God. Relationship with God is only fully realized if it is expressed in the context of relationship with others. 

And that may be where we return to our starting point. Community can’t exist without structure. Nations, states, cities, have laws that govern our relationships with others. The church too requires structure and governance to survive. Those structures may seem unwieldy at times; they may seem to stand in the way of the movement of the spirit and we may become so frustrated by the details of life in community that we abandon it for the chimera of experiencing God on our own, in the silence and quiet of our minds.

But especially now, as we see the lingering effects of the breakdown of community in our world, with egotism and self-interest running riot, the excesses of neoliberalism and unbridled capitalism; the tendency to erect barriers between groups and to vilify those who hold different beliefs or have different sexualities, or national or ethnic origins, the need to build community, to strengthen community is greater than ever.

To imagine, and make visible a community of Christian love, uniting disparate individuals together, and uniting them with Christ and with God can be a witness to a world in which community is shattering and shattered, where individuals seek meaning and connection that can only be fully realized in relationship with Christ and with others. May we make that community a reality, here in Madison and in the world.