Liz Gandolfo wrote a wonderful article on Bishop’s visitation to St. Francis last month. Check it out here. The reason Fr. Taylor is doing a Spanish-language service at St. James is because of the astounding success of the work at St. Francis.
It wasn’t until I made it to Furman on Monday morning to prepare a final exam that I learned of the latest controversy to hit campus–the vandalism of a display detailing the geological history of the lake. Apparently the placard depicting the “descent of man” was stolen and others that described the natural history of the earth in terms of millions of years were defaced. You can read the story (and comments) here. The comments are not terribly edifying, but they do make clear how virulent the opposition to the scientific world view is. Oh, and don’t worry, although I’ve not seen it personally, I doubt there’s anything in the display that this member of Furman’s Religion Department would take issue with (I won’t presume to speak for my colleagues).
The other fascinating news is the opening of the Creation museum in Kentucky. There was a wonderful article in the NY Times about it but since that won’t remain available for non-subscribers, I will link to the Yahoo News post. The most fascinating tidbit for me–the presence of dinosaurs on Noah’s ark. The museum gets high praise, even from secularists and scientists for the technology and art in the displays, but I’ll confess that in one of the photos I’ve seen, it looks very much like a dinosaur is in a nest of giant golf balls, not eggs.
Having mentioned in my last post that I think conversations about and with Gay and Lesbian Christians are important, I thought it might be informative if I said something about how I arrived at the position I currently hold with regard to homosexuality.
I first had to confront the reality of Gay and Lesbian Christians in the early 1980s when I began my studies at Harvard Divinity School. Getting to know gays and lesbians as classmates and then as friends shaped my later experiences. I was a member of the Board of Directors of Ministry to the Homeless, which sought to provide a pastoral presence to homeless men and women on the streets of Boston. Its director was gay; he was also an ordained Disciples of Christ minister. I saw Michael’s gifts at work in Boston, changing the lives of homeless people, and the attitudes of other people. Michael later died of HIV/AIDS, a legacy of his life before he came to know the life that we have in Christ.
I remember a conversation I had with an old and very dear friend who was a graduate of the Mennonite Biblical Seminary. We got together at some point in the mid-80s, and our conversation turned to gays and lesbians. I recall quite clearly that my friend was advocating same-sex blessings while I was deeply opposed. As a single person at the time, it wasn’t clear to me that relationships needed the church’s blessing (this was long before I became Episcopalian). Since then, I have maintained friendships with gays and lesbians and I am aware of couples who have been together as long as Corrie and I.
The point is that my theological and pastoral understanding of homosexuality is rooted in my experience of individuals and families. When people ask me about the biblical verses that seem to reject homosexual behavior, my first response is not to try to interpret or explain those texts but rather to begin with experience. My reasoning goes something like this:
1) There are people who for whatever reason (is it biological, cultural, tied to their personal experience?) can find fulfillment in relationships only with members of the same gender
2) God has created us as sexual beings and as beings who live in community
3) God, the Trinity, is a relational being, and being created in God’s image, we also are relational
4) While I do believe some people are called to celibacy, denying one’s sexuality and sexual being is potentially very dangerous (the recent scandals in the Roman Catholic Church prove that)
5) The gift of love between two people is a gift from God. It is also fragile and needs the support of a wider community for it to flourish
6) Given all that, the Church has a responsibility to work toward the full inclusion of gays and lesbians in its life, and ultimately to find ways of recognizing and blessing the love that gay and lesbian couples share.
I am well aware that many people of faith would disagree with what I have said here, but I would encourage everyone to think about what I have written. It is my conviction that most people’s attitudes towards homosexuality are not based on biblical or theological grounds. Rather, most people have an attitude for which they seek supporting arguments in scripture and theology. I woucld encourage people to reflect on those underlying attitudes—where do they come from? On what are they based? Better yet, talk to your gay and lesbian neighbors, coworkers, and fellow church members. Ask them about their experiences and about their lives, and ask them as well about their faith journeys.
Have you received your invitation to the Lambeth Conference in 2008? No? Well, neither have I, for which I give God thanks. It is bound to be an exciting time. By then we will have a better idea of the future of the Anglican Communion. There is already considerably noise in the press about which bishops received invitations and which did not. The Right Reverend Gene Robinson did not receive an invitation. But of equal interest is that Martin Minns, who was consecrated a bishop by Archbishop Akinola of Nigeria, for CANA, the Nigerian Anglican Church’s offshoot in the US, was also snubbed. There are sound canonical reasons for excluding bishops like Minns; such reasons don’t exist in the case of Bishop Robinson. There the question is homosexuality. But the Archbishop of Canterbury has also stated that homosexuality will be on the agenda of Lambeth. I find it odd that the one openly gay bishop in the Anglican Communion has not been invited to participate in those discussions.
It is clear that the Archbishop of Canterbury wants to keep people at the table, talking to one another, but that is quite difficult when one group refuses to sit down and talk with others. Bishop Henderson has expressed much the same sentiment. The last Lambeth Conference of Bishops committed itself and the Anglican Communion to a Listening Process that would try to understand and learn about the experiences of Gay and Lesbian Christians. That process was commended and encouraged by the Windsor Report and by later Primates’ Meetings. The Listening Process was intended to take place on a Provincial and Diocesan level. I do not know whether our diocese has made any such attempt, but it seems to me that conversations beyond simple acknowledgment of the presence of Gays and Lesbians in our Church are important.
The Bishop’s pastoral letter which Father Timothy read in service on May 13 was fully in keeping with the Bishop’s actions and statements since General Convention 2003. I appreciated his candor and the thoughtful, deeply-felt words in which he expressed himself. His commitment to both the Anglican Communion and to the Episcopal Church is remarkable, and the honesty and integrity with which he speaks and acts is commendable. I might disagree with some of the things he said in the letter, but I thank God that he is our bishop, leading our diocese.
I will take issue publicly with one thing he wrote, that the clergy, to a person, are anxious. I am not anxious. I have faith in God that in the end God’s will will be done and the Episcopal Church will be a community faithful and committed to God’s work in the world. Of that I have no doubt. There may be significant change, but I am certain that God will continue to be present in those changes, whatever they may be.
While Fr. Timothy read the letter, and while we worshiped at St. James, I was mindful of events taking place only a couple of miles away, at St. Francis. St. Francis is experiencing enormous changes; they will be commemorating their final (English language) service in June. But last Sunday, there were over 350 people present for the Spanish language service. The Bishop received into the Episcopal Church or confirmed around twenty adults. In addition, more than twenty children made their first communions. That is remarkable growth in a very short period of time. God is doing great things in our Church. Change can bring anxiety with it but, as we say in congregational development, change is going to happen, the question is, what kind of change, and how will we manage or approach it?
I struggled more than usual with today’s sermon, in part because I had preached Maundy Thursday on that portion of John 13, and I didn’t want to repeat myself more than usual. In addition, I had a lot going on this week, so I wasn’t able to focus on the texts to the extent I usually do. That led to two thoughts that could have been included in the sermon. In the first place, when I heard the lesson from Acts read at the early service, I knew immediately that I could have made the connection between the diversity of the city about which I was speaking and the diversity in that text, the Gospel being extended to Gentiles (I could also have made another joke about shrimp, because they are among the unclean foods).
But secondly, I realized as I preached that in the back of my mind as I was preparing was the PBS program on Mormonism that aired this week. One of the themes of that program was the idea of celestial marriage and that families exist in eternity. In fact, that idea competes within Mormonism with a strong impulse to create the New Jerusalem. Mormonism began in apocalyptic fervor, eagerly awaiting Jesus’ second coming. That theme was downplayed, even ignored in the program. But what is interesting to me is that in its current form, Mormonism seeks to inscribe the family as an eternal institution. That is a radical departure from the New Testament. Jesus said in reply to the Sadducees “In the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven” (Mt. 22:30), and Paul in I Corinthians expresses a clear preference against marriage.
My point is not that marriage and the family are wrong or un-Christian. Rather, early Christianity saw itself as creating a new kind of community, one based not primarily on kinship, but on connection to Christ and to one another. Given the realities of family life in the world today, we do well to remember that most people do not live in traditional families any more, given the rates of divorce, and changing marriage patterns. That’s partly why I see the image of the city, or indeed an image like the body of Christ to be much more powerful for creating the bonds of community in the church.
I’m always hopeful that TV programs will get at least some of the story right. I watched PBS’s “Secrets of the Dead” tonight, which told a story of the English Bible from the 14th century to the present. There was a great deal of oversimplification and some occasional howlers. I grant that it is exceedingly difficult to tell a complex story in an hour of television, but one would hope that the overarching narrative would be accurate. The film mentioned the importance of a Greek edition and new Latin translation of the New Testament that was published in 1516, but neglected to mention the name of the man responsible for that work, which became the foundation of every translation of the Bible into vernacular languages in the sixteenth century, and also the foundation of modern textual criticism. He was Erasmus of Rotterdam. The other grave error was the implication in the film that the English translations of the Bible in the 1530s empowered the laity to reject the Catholic Church and press for reform. In fact, the opposite was true. The English Reformation, we now know, was largely a product of a fairly small number of reformers and supporters, who for a time provided Henry VIII with cover to promote his own interests (the divorce from Catherine of Aragon, consolidation of power, and economic gain). Reform was largely unpopular and indeed there was violent resistance in the 1530s. England became a “Protestant” nation only midway through Elizabeth’s reign, say the 1580s.
The documentary also whitewashed Thomas Cranmer’s story. It made him with Henry, largely responsible for the Reformation in England (that’s an overstatement). As Archbishop of Canterbury he played an important role. His most important legacy is the Book of Common Prayer. But he ended his life in ignominy. After Mary came to the throne in 1553 and reversed religious policy, he was arrested and forced to recant. He clearly wrote and signed the papers of his recantation, but partially redeemed himself the next day, when he publicly renounced his recantation. The recantation was a public relations coup for the Catholics, and it was only through the Protestant propaganda machine (John Foxe’s Book of Martyrs) that Cranmer came to be seen as a martyr for Protestantism. I won’t say anything about him serving as an example of waffling for later Archbishops of Canterbury.
As I mentioned in my sermon yesterday, the story of Thomas is one of my favorite gospel stories. There is enough in it for several sermons. One theme on which I have been reflecting for several years is the importance of the body of the Risen Christ bearing the marks of his wounds.
The resurrection of Christ and the resurrection of the dead are both tenets of our faith; we proclaim them every time we recite the creed. But I doubt whether very many people seriously consider the theological significance of the resurrection. It is something to be believed or doubted, but not reflected on systematically. I was surprised during our discussion of the Divine Comedy of Dante this Lent when a parishioner mentioned that she had never thought about the resurrection of the body. Common beliefs tend to emphasize that when we die, our souls live on, but our bodies decompose.
Yet the resurrection of the body has been central to the Christian faith from the very beginning, and it is not just because Jesus Christ was raised from the dead. The resurrection matters because it attempts to say something crucial about what we are as human beings–not just disembodied souls, but souls and bodies united. The doctrine of the Incarnation insists that Jesus became human, he didn’t only seem to be human. Likewise, our bodies are integral parts of who we are. That’s why the resurrection matters. It proclaims that our whole selves, body and soul, make us who we are and are redeemed by Christ.
But the bodies that are (or will be) resurrected are very much our bodies. That’s why the marks of the wounds are so important. Jesus was not raised to some ideal state but showed on his resurrected body the suffering he had gone through in life. The Christian tradition has insisted that the same is true of us. Whatever makes us unique as individuals will continue to show forth in our resurrected bodies. There are significant implications to this idea. For many of us, it may be a disappointment, given the dissatisfaction we have with our bodies–our weight, our aging, our baldness. But it might also be of great comfort or great spiritual significance for some people. To see on themselves the marks of their suffering, the marks of their pain, now transfigured and glorified, might include a recognition that such suffering and pain made them who they are.
This was my first Holy Week as a priest, but my sixth since I’ve been in the ordination process and working in churches. I noticed in the days and weeks leading up to it that I was approaching Holy Week with a different frame of mind than in the past. On the liturgical side of things there was an intense bustle of activity as we tried to make sure in advance that all of the services went off without a hitch. On the personal side, I sensed a new burden. One part of being a priest is that we are partly responsible for shaping the spiritual lives of our parishioners.
I suspect that the reason I felt that burden so strongly this year was because of the role Holy Week played in my becoming an Episcopalian. I remember the awe that I experienced the first time I participated in the Triduum: the spectacle of Maundy Thursday with the stripping of the altar, the solemnity of Good Friday, and the wondrous drama of the Easter Vigil. That first experience proved to me the power of liturgical worship and exposed depths of my soul I hardly knew existed.
To participate in creating such experiences for others is humbling and challenging. At the end of Easter Sunday, I felt little more than exhaustion and relief that it was all over. Thankfully, Monday was a holiday at Furman so I could have an extra day to recover.
Nearly two years after purchasing our new home, we have finally turned our attention this spring to the lawn. Last year, we did an incredible amount of work in the yard. I made raised beds for our vegetable garden; we put in a dry creek bed to deal with drainage issues; we planted trees and lots of shrubs. But the lawn was, and remains, a mess. We weren’t even sure what kind (or kinds) of grass were planted. In any case, there was as much crabgrass and dandelions in spots as there was grass. Corrie did lots of research online and talked to people all over the country. We finally decided that we would plant some more fescue but mix it with clover. Clover stays green during drought and it also is beneficial for the soil. But what to do with the dandelions?
We didn’t act early enough to use a pre-emergent herbicide and we are trying to be as close to organic as possible, so we decided the only option was to pull them. So, for the last few days, I’ve been pulling dandelions in my free time. There is something wonderfully therapeutic for me about mindless manual labor. It gives me the opportunity to get away from the computer and from books and to think, even meditate.
We are in the midst of Holy Week, my first as an ordained priest. I have been surprised by how deeply moving it is to celebrate the Eucharist in the context of this holy time. Celebration is always awesome for me, but there is something even more significant about the words and gestures as we move toward Good Friday. I find myself caught up in the experience, caught up in the language and emotions of this week. The hymns on Sunday took me even further. First we sang “Were You there†a capella, which always evokes the Mennonite Church services of my childhood and youth. Then, as our concluding hymn, we sang Johann Herrmann’s beautiful, “Ah, Holy Jesus.â€
Those hymns were in my mind as I pulled weeds yesterday afternoon. It is a mundane, homey, gesture in the midst of these deeply meaningful days, but a gesture that has its own significance. One of the puzzles as a person deeply involved in the ritual life of the Church is the odd juxtaposition of the sacred and the ordinary. It can be amusing when we continue celebrating the twelve days of Christmas long after most people have taken down their decorations. It can also be jarring, even offensive. I remember once in Sewanee returning home after the Good Friday procession to hear the frat boys next door playing rock music. We live in between the sacred and the ordinary and we do well to practice those disciplines that allow us to see the sacred in the ordinary. Like pulling dandelions, I suppose.
