read the article here.

One of the wonderful things about teaching college was the opportunity (necessity) it afforded to re-read great works of literature, philosophy, and religion. Last Fall, I taught the first half of the History of Christianity survey, and assigned a number of works I hadn’t read in over ten years (The Rule of St. Benedict, for example). Among that group was Anselm’s Proslogion. In fact, I probably hadn’t read it in closer to twenty years.

It is a marvel, not primarily for the ontological argument, which leaves me unsatisfied. Rather, what I find most interesting is the style of writing: rigorous logic interspersed with effusive prayer. Anselm brought together reason and religious life in a way that is almost incomprehensible in the twenty-first century.

The Mainstream Media (MSM) headlines screamed this morning: “The Episcopal Church ends ban on gay bishops.” The headline, and the articles were sensationalistic, but misleading. Resolution D025, which passed the House of Deputies and amended, passed the House of Bishops yesterday, did no such thing. In fact, there was no ban or “moratorium” on the consecration of gay bishops, something even the Archbishop of Canterbury seems not to have understood. What the media, and the Archbishop were referring to was resolution B033 from 2006, which “urged restraint” on bishops and standing committees in their consents to the elections of gay or lesbian bishops.

Resolution D025 changes nothing. It simply states where the Episcopal Church is and what the canonical requirements for ordination are. The canons (the rules or laws) that govern the church say nothing about sexuality or gender when listing qualifications for ordination. Quite the contrary, the canons are explicitly non-discriminatory.

Resolution D025 points that out. It also acknowledges the deep divisions in the Episcopal Church and in the Anglican Communion over matters of sexuality.

For more on this, the Episcopal Cafe has been following the debates. In addition, there is a fine essay on the Anglican Centrist. But I encourage you especially to read Bishop Henderson’s letter on the meaning of the resolution. I should note that he offered an important amendment to the resolution in the House of Bishops, which they passed.

Was it just coincidence that the General Convention of the Episcopal Church began on July 9, the 500th anniversary of the birth of Jean Calvin? Calvinism has been important in the history of the development of Anglicanism, even if most of us like to downplay its role in contemporary Anglicanism. In fact, the English Reformation got its start before Calvin arrived on the scene and there was never a single voice of Reformed Protestantism influencing early English Protestant theology. Martin Bucer, the Reformer of Strasbourg, spent some time in England, and Heinrich Bullinger, the Zurich reformer was enormously influential as well.

Calvinism became significant only relatively late, in the Elizabethan period, and from the start, there was significant “push-back” from the crown and from other important players. The reason for Calvinism’s unpopularity among the political and religious powers was his vision of the church, and especially the critique of bishops. That meant that much of the rest of his theology eventually was rejected as well. Still, there was significant Calvinist (and Reformed) influence on the Elizabethan Settlement.

I’ve never found Calvin particularly appealing, and it is not just his understanding of human sinfulness. Rather, I think my aversion has to do with style or approach. The Institutes are a marvelous system of theology, carefully argued, well-organized, even elegant. I like my theology a little messier, reflective of the conflicts and emotions that drive theological thinking and innovation. That being said, Calvin continues to influence contemporary theology, as he has done for 450 years.

We were talking about authority in our Anglicanism class this morning. There’s the three-legged stool, of course (scripture, tradition, and reason), but there’s more to it than that. In fact, one of the pressing issues in Anglicanism has to do with the nature and exercise of authority in the church. One of the key problems has to do with where authority in the church comes from. In the Episcopal Church, for example, authority rests in laity and clergy together. In General Convention, there are two houses, the house of deputies consisting of lay and clergy delegates, and the house of bishops. In individual parishes, rectors are ultimately selected by the vestry, but they serve under the bishop. Bishops are elected in diocesan conventions, needing majority votes from lay delegates and clergy. In other nations, the Anglican church is organized quite differently.

All of this may seem esoteric and relatively unimportant, but that’s not the case. There is a connection, a symmetry between the structure and how authority it is exercised. In the Episcopal Church, democracy, or giving the people a voice, is written into our constitution. We talk a lot about the ministry of the baptized, but to giving laity voice and vote in church governance says a great deal about the relationship between clergy and laity, and about the role of the laity in the church. General Convention will take place in July, and no doubt there will be some news coming out of it. It is our governing body; unlike other churches, especially the Roman Catholic, people have a say in the governance and authority of the church.

In the twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, Julian of Norwich has become one of the most popular and influential spiritual writers of the Christian tradition. That in itself is remarkable, because there is very little evidence of her popularity in her own day or even in the following centuries. Her writings were never widely distributed and exist in only one or two manuscripts.

What has made her popular is the depth and power of her theological and spiritual vision. Her use of maternal imagery with reference to God and to Jesus Christ, the phrases “all shall be well” and perhaps especially that remarkable statement of God’s love with which she concludes her Showings:

“And from the time that it was revealed, I desired many times to know in what was our Lord’s meaning. And fifteen years after and more, I was answered in spiritual understanding, and it was said: What, do you wish to know your Lord’s meaning in this thing? Know it well, love was his meaning. Who reveals it to you? Love. What did he reveal to you? Love. Why does he reveal it to you? For love.”

All of that endears her to contemporary liberal Christians and New-Agers. What many of these people often overlook is how firmly rooted Julian’s thought and experience are in the Christian tradition. The sacraments are important to her, but even more problematic in the twenty-first century is her vivid, devotion to the Passion of Jesus Christ. She describes images of Christ’s suffering and death that might offend modern sensibilities. But her understanding of Christ’s love is shaped by her experience of that love in his suffering and death on the cross.

I’ve been thinking about the sacrament of Confession a great deal. In class last week, as I lectured on Erasmus and his edition of the Greek New Testament and Latin translation that was published in 1516, I told my students about his translation of Greek word metanoia in the Gospel of Matthew. The traditional Latin translation was “Do penance” which puts in Jesus’ mouth the commandment to Christians to make their confession to a priest. Erasmus translated it more literally as “change your mind” and insisted that the sense of the Greek word was “be penitent.”

Last week, The New York Times published an article on the return of indulgences. You can read it here. It was perfectly timed, because this week in class, we turned to Martin Luther, his quest for a merciful God, and his attack on indulgences. The very first of his 95 Theses reads almost as if Erasmus might have written it, “When Jesus said, ‘Repent,’ he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

In the Middle Ages, the Church expected that all Christians would make their confession once a year, in preparation for the annual reception of communion at Easter. Lent, which had its beginnings in the Early Church as a period of preparation for baptism, took on a deeply penitential emphasis. Preachers, especially the Franciscans, would encourage their listeners to examine themselves more deeply and systematically, to ensure that they made a full confession.

While most of the Protestant reformers believed Confession was a useful practice and sought to retain it, most laypeople resisted. It was kept in the Book of Common Prayer. The Exhortation that was to be said before the Eucharist made clear that if one was in sin, they were to make a confession before receiving communion.

When we think of Confession, most of us probably think of what we see in the movies, or what we remember of our Roman Catholic childhoods—confessional boxes, with a grate separating the priest from the confessant.

Confession is an opportunity to reflect on one’s life. It should not be seen as a potential guilt trip. Instead, preparing for confession involves taking a good hard look at oneself, without blinders or excuses and to recognize who we are and what we do. In the confession of sin during the Eucharist we ask forgiveness for “the things we have done and the things we have left undone.” Preparing for private confession allows us to think seriously about the ways in which we have not been the human being that God wants us to be and indeed the human being that we want to be.

Some of us have the the discipline to embark on this self-examination on our own, but the result may indeed be feelings of guilt, doubt, or despair. To speak with a priest about the results of one’s self-examination provides the occasion to hear again the words we know are true; that our sins are forgiven by the great mercy of God. It may be that hearing those words of absolution will take a heavy burden off the shoulders of one who has been worrying about their sins.