Of Sausages and Saints

As I watched the children rush exuberantly into the sanctuary on Sunday to listen to the story of St. Nicholas, I was reminded of the overwhelming responsibility the Church has to children, on a number of levels.

The most important one is the responsibility to keep them safe from harm. During my homily, I told one of the classic stories of St. Nicholas and children--the one where the evil butcher grinds them into sausages during a famine, and St. Nicholas grinds the sausages back into children to the peoples' amazement and relief. Another version of the story has the butcher curing the children in barrels, and then trying to sell them off as hams. Of course, St. Nicholas foils the butcher's wicked plot in this telling, too. I alerted the congregation ahead of time that the story might be shocking, but that it would turn out just fine in the end. There were understandably several very audible quick intakes of breath and groans when it became apparent where the story of was headed. When I was at St. Nicholas in Elk Grove Village, we told that story just about every year, and the children acted it out with great enthusiasm, running around the sanctuary to wild peals of laughter as they were turned into sausages. The story, of course, is situated in the fourth century when Christianity was the newly minted religion of Constantine's empire, following decades of persecutions and gory martyrdoms at the hands of the Roman state. Life was brutish and bloody, and so the core stories of Christianity were often bloody, too, even the ones that had happy endings.

What makes the story so worthy to be told in the 21st century is the way it emphasizes the church's role in protecting children. Yes, we should all ensure that the parish is a place where sexual misconduct is an impossibility by creating a culture of transparency and accountability, and requiring anyone who works with children to go through Keeping God's People Safe training. But that's just a first step. While I was preaching and offering the mass intention for the day, I was deeply mindful of the many children who suffer from violence on our city streets and around the world, because of gun violence, sexual abuse, neglect, child labor, and human trafficking. Are not these things just as horrifying as the story of the evil sausage grinder? Shouldn't we express our shock and outrage when we hear these things happening on a daily basis? Few of these children have the happy ending they deserve. In the story of the sausages, St. Nicholas, the patron saint of children, swoops in to save the day, and the Church in our day should be prepared to do likewise.

Earlier in the day at the 8 am service, I preached on John the Baptist. In the face of so much abuse of children, his call to repentance, to prepare the way of the Lord, is the perfect response to the story of the sausages. The Forerunner might look wild and scary--perhaps today he'd be a street preacher with a megaphone and a placard scrawled with words of doom--but I would argue that his unapologetic call to repentance and action is completely appropriate in the face of so much evil.  It is also fitting that, on this the feast of the Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we reflect on how we can care for and protect mothers, who in their turn, must often face the same sources of abuse and violence as their children. Today, we commemorate the conception of the baby Mary, whose soul would magnify the Lord, and who would in turn become the Blessed Mother of Our Lord, Jesus. May the Church take seriously its responsibility to protect children, mothers, and all those who suffer from violence and abuse, as Nicholas and other saints great have done throughout the ages. Their stories--gritty, gory and shocking though they may be--still need to be told, so that we might be reminded of our responsibility as the Church to protect the vulnerable among us.

Advent blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Joan of Arc: the Life and Witness of the Maid of Orleans

The lives of the saints are a critical way we connect with the Christian faith, by examining the witness of those who have gone before us, their struggles and their impressive examples of holiness. Over the past six weeks or so, my parish, Grace Episcopal Church in Chicago, has explored several of these in liturgy, preaching, and adult formation.  They ranged from classic saints like Francis of Assisi and Joan of Arc to more contemporary figures, such as Howard Thurman and Flannery O'Connor. They are both the embodiment of the best in human nature and flawed human beings like the rest of us; they are exemplars and companions.  Several folks asked if I could share my slides from my presentation, so I decided to go one step further, and have converted my workshop on St. Joan of Arc to a twenty-minute video with study questions at the end for further discussion. "The Lord is glorified in his saints, O come let us adore him!"

All Souls' Day: A Storehouse of Consolation

A Sermon for All Souls' Day.  A link to the audio recording can be found here.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A young man sat across from me last Tuesday on the Red Line train during the evening rush hour. We’ll call him Phil.  Phil was in his mid- to late-20s, with a shaggy ginger beard and huge headphones over his ears. He looked up at me every now and then, and after several stops, finally leaned forward and ventured tentatively:

“You’re a priest, right?”

“I am,” I stated pithily, smiling.

“So, do I call you, Father or Pastor, or what?”

“Those are fine. Or you can just call me Ethan.”

“OK. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“I’m not a Catholic or anything, Father, but …”

“Neither am I, actually. I am a priest in the Episcopal Church,” I hastened to clarify.  (I decided not to muddy the waters by explaining Anglo-Catholicism. I knew what he meant.)  Phil’s face brightened with a look of recognition.

“The Episcopal Church. OK, so you don’t have confession, then?”

“Actually, we do,” I said encouragingly.  “But we often call it reconciliation.”

“Hmm. Really?  Well, do you think that the sins and bad stuff we do can affect our physical health? ‘Cause I’ve been feeling kind of sick, lately,” Phil confided. “I’m wondering if there’s a spiritual cause for it?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed.  “I firmly believe that the things that weigh on our consciences can affect our whole selves, emotionally, spiritually, and physically.” Phil seemed genuinely engaged, so I continued. “They damage our souls, and they can turn toxic and work on us over the long haul, if we don’t process them through therapy or sacramental confession.  In fact, I do both, and I highly recommend them.  They can make a huge difference.” Phil’s face, which had been intensely serious, relaxed into a smile.

“OK, thanks,” he said reflectively, as we shook hands and I got off the train.

To those who say that sin is an outmoded, medieval concept, my brief conversation with Phil would suggest, on the contrary, the world is still in desperate need of God’s mercy.  And that’s because sin is real, however much our society might deny its existence.  Sin is a difficult sell these days, because we would prefer to focus on God’s estimation of the created order, including us, as very good, as the book of Genesis records.  But the recognition of human sinfulness does not invalidate God’s original blessing.  Rather, it acknowledges our complexity: that the human experience is fraught with moral failings that we cannot resolve by ourselves.  We may be inherently good, but we are not sufficient unto ourselves.  We need God.

It may be hard for us to discern this hopeful message in the Requiem’s severe language. Contemporary sensibilities are not attuned to the Requiem’s central theme of the wrath and vengeance of divine judgment.  But to really appreciate the extravagant gift of God’s mercy and deliverance from sin, we need to engage equally extravagant language around human brokenness.  If the human condition were expressed in lukewarm terms, then God’s remedy would seem far less dramatic, far less redemptive.  What is deeply beautiful about the Requiem liturgy is the notion that however far we may fall, however much we might deserve divine retribution, God, out of his endless love for us, offers us abundant mercy.  And this is where the liturgy ends up, with the balm of divine absolution.

This evening’s readings are aligned to this hopeful outlook.  They are meant to provide reassurance in the face of fear and despair, doubt and failure.  The Dies irae expresses the intensity of human terror in the face of death and final judgment, and, yet in the Recordare there is a note of humility and tenderness that acknowledges God’s promise of redemption through Jesus’s once-for-all sacrifice on the Cross.  “Remember, kind Jesus, / my salvation caused your suffering; / do not forsake me on that day. / Faint and weary you have sought me, / redeemed me, suffering on the cross; / may such great effort not be in vain.”

A wise priest said to me one day, while instructing me how to hear confessions, “Remember that we come to confession, not for condemnation, but for forgiveness.”  In the face of deserved judgment, God offers forgiveness to those who seek it out in a spirit of sincere repentance.  It is a pity that so few people nowadays avail themselves of the sacrament of confession, because I think it would provide a baseline for understanding how the Requiem amplifies on a cosmic scale the assurance of God’s mercy the priest offers the penitent in life.  In death, too, we are assured of mercy.  We may be broken, but God intervenes to make us whole.  And we are insufficient unto ourselves, not only because we must rely on God, but also because we must rely on each other.  That is what it means to be the Body of Christ and to participate in the great cloud of witness we call the Communion of Saints, which we celebrated yesterday.

The Communion of Saints, however, is often practiced as a one-way street, rather than the mutual relationship of intercession and encouragement that it is.  Yesterday, as we recited or sung the Litany of the Saints, we asked the holy ones who have gone before us for their intercession as we face the strife of our lives here on earth.  Yet, the saints are not just charged with the ministry of conveying our repentance to God, and pleading on our behalf.  They are also sinners with their own brokenness and pain, seeking wholeness and ultimate union with God, for whom we pray.  One theological tradition of the Church has argued that whatever brokenness we have acquired through sin during our lives on earth, we must face it after death in a reality that precedes Heaven.  I have imagined this myself not so much as working off our sins, but God granting us the space to repair the damage to our souls through healing, and learning, and new spiritual insight, so that we may achieve a more intimate union with Him.  In the end, who knows?  What is fairly certain is that we each meet our Maker with a certain amount of woundedness.  So, the living in turn pray for the departed on All Souls’ Day, asking God to show them mercy and heal their brokenness.  The Communion of Saints is about solidarity in the midst of shared sinfulness and vulnerability and hope.

John Mason Neale

The great luminary of the Oxford Movement, John Mason Neale, offered the following guidance in his sermon on All Souls’ Day 1856 to the sisters of the Society of Saint Margaret, of whom he was the founder and first chaplain.  He said,

“But for the great multitude of those who have been redeemed to God … they without us shall not be made perfect.  And it is they, the true Servants of God, but not his Saints, whom we keep in memory to-day.  And what then?  Between them and us is there no fellowship?  Is there such a great gulf fixed, that no prayers, no power or grace of the Church can overleap it?  God forbid!  This it is to hold the Catholic faith; this it is to derive the untold comforts of her storehouse of consolation.  Think now each of you, of the dear ones whom you have lost, and believe this earnestly: that, if they have slept in the Lord, your prayers still avail for them, as much as (or more than) if they were still present in the flesh.  Let it be so, that we cannot tell what their needs are; that we know not what especial increase of grace they lack; in what particular way they desire to be helped.”

The saints, whom Neale calls simply servants, to remind us of our kinship with them, are bonded to us in common care and prayer across the ages. We share in the untold comforts of the Church’s storehouse of consolation in prayer, the sacraments, and our relationships with each other, the living and the departed.

In fact, the prayers of the living and the dead for each other across the ages drives the Church’s core identity as one, holy, catholic and apostolic.  From the apostles, martyrs and confessors of the primitive Church down to Phil, and you and me in this day, we are united in God’s promise of mercy and new life.  “Very truly, I tell you,” Jesus proclaims in the Gospel of John, “anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life, and does not come under judgment, but has passed from death to life.”  The Eucharist that we are about to celebrate is our regular affirmation of this promise of eternal life, when human brokenness is redeemed, ours and the servants who have gone before us.  Bread broken that, in the fullness of God’s time, we might be whole.

Rest eternal grant unto them, O Lord.  And let light perpetual shine upon them.
May they rest in peace.  Amen.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

On Church Buildings

I currently serve at the Diocese of Chicago's third oldest parish, which was founded in 1851. If you were to pass in front of the building, you might not think it was a church at all, and certainly not one of such great longevity. Grace is now at its sixth location in a converted commercial building in the South Loop's Printer's Row. It houses not only an Episcopal congregation on Sunday, but a number of not-for-profit organizations, a Lutheran satellite campus, a Korean congregation, the South Loop campus ministry (Lutheran/Episcopal), a weekly community breakfast for 200 homeless men and women, yoga, Alcoholics Anonymous, and a number of other activities that vary from week to week. The building is almost always FULL.

For many congregations, though, their buildings are perceived as a burden, rather than an asset. After several years on the diocesan Congregations Commission, I came to appreciate how pivotal a building can be to a congregation's survival and vitality. Many are faced with huge obstacles posed by deferred maintenance: a roof that needs to be replaced, a parking lot that needs to be resurfaced, tuckpointing to preserve a crumbling facade, foundation or other work to stem flooding, electrical upgrades, plumbing repairs, a new boiler or water heater. The list goes on and on. In every congregation where I have been a leader, both as a layperson and as a priest, there have been major physical plant challenges. As a result, some have argued that we need to get out of our expensive Gothic or Romanesque buildings and relocate to spaces that are more economical and better suited to the kind of work our congregations want to do. They're bleeding us dry, people complain.

A community meeting on the 1st floor meeting space.

While that may be true in many cases, the larger question for me is: what does your building make possible? There is no doubt that Grace, a parish that numbers a steady 65 on Sundays, is able to do disproportionately more than other congregations its size because of its extraordinary building. I know you'll indulge me and allow me to brag a little that the parish has a reach and a reputation in the community that most congregations would envy. But even a contemporary building ideally suited to ministry in the wider community has a variety of associated costs. Tenants provide a steady revenue stream, but they also generate costs. Additional wear and tear on the building from increased usage; staffing to provide building security, custodial services, and setup/break-down of the various meeting spaces; infrastructure repairs and upgrades to the physical plant; and legal fees incurred to negotiate contracts and occupancy agreements can also be part of the equation. There is no doubt in my mind that these expenses are worthwhile; and the relationships the parish builds with its community and ministry partners are inestimable. But they can add up to a sizable fiscal note. So, a parish needs to be informed about what's involved and smart about managing it all.

Saturday's community breakfast.

There is no one-size-fits-all solution to the challenges posed by church buildings. Moving out of an historic Gothic building might be more cost-effective, but relocating to a converted printing warehouse might not support the ethos and aesthetic of the traditional liturgy that is central to a particular parish's identity and reputation. On the other hand, it might be just the thing that allows that parish to grow into a more vibrant and stable version of itself. It might encourage the parish to think of itself in new ways, as its members discover what the new building makes possible. In either case, the parish needs to act strategically to ensure that it has the right leadership, resources, and infrastructure to support its mission. As a priest that spends about half of his time doing administration and management, I value the experience and skills sets I developed as a not-for-profit executive. I couldn't do my job without them. I am aware, however, that if we imagine new ways of being church, including the types of buildings we use, seminaries will have to train clergy differently and congregations will need to recruit particular types of expertise to fill leadership roles on vestries, building committees, and other bodies. Church buildings can be a invaluable asset if we honestly evaluate what they make possible, and what they don't, and what they need from us to make them work.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Preserving the Nicene Creed

I am just back in the parish after having been on the road for a solid week, first at the Society of Catholic Priests annual meeting in Denver, and then at the Diocese of Chicago's clergy conference. Both events provided a stirring experience of the universality of the Church, the fact that we live out the Christian faith in our own distinct contexts, animated by different cultural traditions, pieties, and musical styles. And our theologies are often varied, as well. We discussed, debated, and even argued about what constitutes solid Anglican teaching. Are hospitality and justice, for example, sufficient reasons to change, say, the Church's official position on the communion of the unbaptized? Do they provide an adequate justification for revising the marriage rite in the Book of Common Prayer to encompass same-sex couples, or is more theological work needed?  And then, there's the Nicene Creed, another topic on which much digital ink has been spilled this week.

The core issue of the Nicene Creed is its status in a revised Prayer Book. Should it be included, and if so, why? In what form should it be retained? Should it remain a normative and integral part of the primary service on Sundays? Regardless of our different ministry contexts, the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds serve as a focal point of unity in the Anglican Communion. It will probably not surprise you to hear that people of good conscience have expressed a variety of views on this subject. And I am among them. So, here are my top five concerns about the Nicene Creed:

1. Restore the original Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed. My beloved read the words Niceno-Constantinopolitan over my shoulder and said it sounded like an exotic ice cream medley. I laughed and admitted that this blog entry might seem a bit esoteric and pedantic to some, so if it is, my apologies. But, in all seriousness, I think the Nicene Creed is a topic worthy of thoughtful debate. As "Crusty Old Dean," Tom Ferguson, has colorfully argued on his own blog, the Episcopal Church should decisively get rid of the filioque clause in the Nicene Creed that claims that the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father AND the Son. For one, the filioque muddles and problematizes orthodox Trinitarian theology. Secondly, it was a unilateral decision to counter the Arianism of the Teutonic Christians, who viewed Jesus as inferior to the Father. Originally added at the Council of Toledo in 589 and later enforced by Charlemagne, the reason it was contrived no longer exists. To revert to the original Creed as formulated at the Ecumenical Councils of Nicaea in 325 and Constantinople in 381 would more faithfully recapture the sensus fidelium of the early Church that we embrace and pass on to future generations.

Archbishop Michael Ramsey

2. Pass the torch. Each generation of the faithful is charged with passing on the core tenets of the faith to the next. Archbishop of Canterbury, Michael Ramsey, wrote on the first page of The Anglican Spirit,

"I want to talk about some of the main enduring characteristics of Anglican tradition, the way in which the Anglican Church has in its life and teaching, theology and sacraments, given over that divine paradosis--which is the Greek word for something that has been 'handed over' or 'passed on.' For when we Christians speak of tradition, we mean the experience of the Christian community lying authentically within that which God through Christ has handed over for the revelation of himself and the salvation of men and women everywhere" (Ramsey, 1).

So, for example, what is the point of the catechumenate if we fail to hand over the core beliefs of Christianity as preserved in the Nicene Creed. In the current version of the catechumenate in the Book of Occasional Services, the direction is given that "it is appropriate that the Apostles' (or Nicene Creed) be given to the Candidates for Baptism on the Third Sunday in Lent and the Lord's Prayer be given to them on the Fifth Sunday in Lent." If we dispense with the Nicene Creed, then exactly what faith are we passing on? What statement of belief are they receiving?

3. Prayer Book revision. This leads me to Prayer Book revision. Dr. Derek Olsen has addressed a number of concerns that have arisen from a recent statement on Prayer Book revision from his colleague on the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music, The Rev. Dr. Ruth Meyers. Dr. Meyers described the Nicene Creed as a stumbling block for many, and proposed that it not remain a standard feature of Sunday worship. This suggestion ignited the blogosphere and occasioned a flurry of responses, such as in the Living Church and on the Smoking Thurible blog. The Nicene Creed, I would argue, forms part of the esse of the Church, and is therefore not dispensable. Olsen argues, moreover, that Meyer's proposal is symptomatic of a cultural shift away from orthodox Christianity toward a variety of heresies aligned with Moral Therapeutic Deism. C. S. Lewis makes the point in Letters to Malcolm, for example, that "first, [common prayer] keeps me in touch with 'sound doctrine.' Left to oneself, one could easily slide away from 'the faith once given' into a phantom called 'my religion.' [...] By the way, that's another thing to be avoided in a revised Prayer Book. 'Contemporary problems' may claim an undue share. And the more 'up to date' the book is, the sooner it will be dated" (Lewis, 12). If you don't believe Lewis, take a look at Eucharistic Prayer C (referred to by people of diverse churchmanship as the "Star Wars Prayer") in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, and tell me it doesn't seem dated, despite its often lovely, lyrical imagery. As a guy who grew up in the 1970s, it does have a bit of a ''groovy, man" vibe to me.

4. Foster ecumenism. The current version of the Creed with the filioque is a serious obstacle to ecumenical work. Lest we forget, the filioque was one of the primary disagreements that led to the Great Schism between the Western and Eastern Churches in 1054. The Anglican Oriental Orthodox International Commission met last week in Wales, during which the Anglican representatives agreed to remove the filioque and move the two communions closer together. Dean Ferguson clarifies that the removal of the filioque is not meant simply to placate Orthodox Christians, who have long complained about its use among Roman Catholics and others (like us), but because it's a theological aberration that needs to be remedied. More generally, the Nicene Creed is not just an historical artifact. It remains the second component of the Chicago-Lambeth Quadrilateral of 1886/8 shaped by William Reed Huntingdon as the basis for Anglican ecumenical work: "The Apostles' Creed, as the Baptismal Symbol; and the Nicene Creed, as the sufficient statement of the Christian faith" (BCP, 877). I understand that this document, like the Articles of Religion (Thirty-Nine Articles) is housed in the "Historic Documents" section of the Prayer Book, but unless I've been misinformed, the historic Creeds, along with the Holy Scriptures, the dominical sacraments, and the episcopate, are still foundational principles for our ecumenical efforts.

Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed

5. Creeds are always necessary but not sufficient. During the Diocese of Chicago's clergy conference, the Rev. Dr. Mark McIntosh, Professor of Christian Spirituality at Loyola University Chicago, pointed out that "creeds are always necessary, but not sufficient." I absolutely agree with this statement--at least inasmuch as the Nicene Creed does not speak explicitly on every topic related to God or the Christian experience. There is much that we affirm about God and our lives as Christians that are not mentioned by the historic Creeds, and so I have at times complemented the Nicene Creed on Sunday morning with other affirmations as a way to encourage people to be reflective. The historic Creeds are the starting point of a spiritual journey. The Chicago-Lambeth Quadrilateral defines the Nicene Creed as the sufficient statement of the Christian faith, which I understand to mean that it supplies the essential foundation without being exhaustive like a multi-tomed systematic theology. But it does something else. In being the foundation, the Creed drives our seeking, leading us to be ever more curious, ever more passionate for God.

I realize that for many people reciting the Nicene Creed is difficult, containing certain theological propositions to which they cannot assent. It's tough for me, too. So, I get Dr. Meyer's point. But reciting the Creed is about more than agreeing intellectually with this or that statement. It's about affirming one's belonging to a heritage of faith and practice over many generations and seeking to live into the unfathomable mystery of God that the Nicene Creed expresses. In this way, the Church would not be the Church without it.

Ritual Notes

I have been thinking a lot about ritual lately, both as a priest in a new parish and in light of the upcoming annual conference of the Society of Catholic Priests, which begins this week in Denver. As usual, liturgy will be a primary component of the conference. We will come together from our diverse parishes, each with its unique ritual customs, and do our best not to throw each other off or step on each others' feet.

In seminary, I was taught that even congregations and denominations that do not consider themselves "liturgical churches" still have patterns and customs for worship that over time become normative. They are in their own way rituals, or performance. Worship is performance, not in the sense of entertainment, but rather as the way a worshiping community enacts the theological, relational, and cultural values that are foundational to its identity. From week to week, we see a congregation perform an established repertoire of acts, gestures, and statements that say, "this is who we are."

Growing up as a young Jewish kid at Congregation Kol Ami, I came to know and anticipate every core gesture and to blend in with the rhythm and pacing of every practiced word. But I also noticed the places in the service where there was untidiness, even dissonance. The fact that Judith Sobel sang theAlenu an octave higher than everyone else--and not always on key--and that some people bent their knees and bowed at the designated place in that prayer, and some didn't, were also part of the congregation's identity. Every congregation, no matter how uniform it may look from the outside, is diverse: diverse pieties, spiritualities, theologies, and ritual sensibilities. In Episcopal congregations, for example, at the invocation of the Holy Trinity, some people will make the sign of the cross, or bow, or do nothing at all. In some parishes, certain people will kneel during the Eucharistic Prayer, while others will stand. Some adore "bells and smells," while others would prefer it simple and unadorned. And you may find all of this diversity within one congregation.

From the priest's perspective--at least, this priest's perspective--the challenge is to acknowledge and respect this diversity. In every service, the priest hopes that each person will find something that will spirituality nourish him or her. Perhaps it will be the sermon, or the hymns, or the language we use to talk about God. The ritual actions likewise may resonate with one person, and not another, for theological, aesthetic or cultural reasons. And, perhaps unexpectedly, the congregation's diversity also includes the priest. Like the congregation, the priest is a worshiper who brings his or her theology, relationship with God, personality, and ritual sensibilities to the altar. Anglicanism has always striven for unity without uniformity, and I would add, communion without conformity. Ritual should, therefore, make a generous space for "a bit of me" and "a bit of you." At its best, worship will enable both priest and every member of the congregation to bring something of their authentic selves to their shared encounter with God. 

Abundant blessings,

Fr. Ethan+

An Apology of Anglican Catholicity

The new Chicago Chapter of the Society of Catholic Priests

While Philadelphia (and the world) waited with great anticipation for Pope Francis to open the World Meeting of Families last Saturday, my friends and I were preparing for an event of our own here in Chicago. After two and a half years of discussion, discernment, and preparation, we gathered at Grace Episcopal Church in the city's South Loop for a mass to inaugurate the Chicago Chapter of the Society of Catholic Priests. It did not involve barricading downtown streets or ticker-tape parades. None of us drove through adoring crowds in a Pope-mobile. Just bread and wine, hymns and holy smoke, and champagne at the end.

The frenzy of activity and interest in the Pope's visit demonstrates the power that the notion of

Pope Francis greets admirers in Philadelphia

catholicity still has over people generally, and Anglicans, specifically. My Facebook feed filled with commentaries about Francis's statement on same-sex marriage and the ordination of women, the moral example he was setting by snubbing an invitation from congressional leaders to eat with the homeless, and even how his presence would likely influence the upcoming presidential election. In a way, it makes me sad that many Anglicans feel they have to piggyback onto the Roman bandwagon to satisfy their fascination for and experience of the universal Church.

It speaks to the fact that Anglicanism, including the Episcopal Church, is timid about claiming its catholicity. When we do it, it's in a half-hearted and qualified way, as if we're either embarrassed or not quite convinced of it. Maybe we feel insecure that we're so much smaller or that we're a more recent creation. Like the rural cousin that arrives to the fancy gala in her simple homespun dress, we feel we just don't measure up. After all, it's hard to compete with the sheer scale of the Roman Church's presence and of Pope Francis's popularity. But if Francis has taught us anything, it's that the Church is not about riches or pomp or who's got the tallest mitre.

John Jewel

I think about the many great theologians in our tradition that have crafted sophisticated apologies of the Church of England, how they too wrestled with the concept of catholicity. Whether it was an attempt to recapture the purity of the ancient Church, reconnect with the roots of pre-Reformation Sarum, or enter into a more expansive understanding of catholicity, they all had to make sense of the unique place of the ecclesia anglicana in the universal Church. Jewel and Hooker, Newman and Keble, Ramsey and Williams have thought and debated in just the same way we are thinking and debating within the Society of Catholic Priests. As I looked around Grace's sanctuary on Saturday morning, I remarked on the diversity of our members' priestly ministry, the variety of contexts in which we serve at the altar. We are urban and suburban, in mostly white congregations and mostly black, in small parishes and large, in broad churches and Anglo-Catholic churches, in affluent communities and in poor communities. If this doesn't represent the universality of the Church, then I don't know what does.

Abundant blessings,

Fr. Ethan+

#TractSwarm Four: The Heart of Anglican Catholicity

Justin Welby, 105th Abp of Canterbury

The Archbishop of Canterbury announced a proposal last week to deal with the schism within Anglicanism by dismantling the Anglican Communion and replacing it with a looser network of provinces connected to the See of Canterbury. The big change would be that, while these provinces would remain in communion with Canterbury, they would not necessarily remain in communion with each other. I considered this distressing news in light of the most recent Society of Catholic Priests TractSwarm on the heart of catholicity for the 21st century Anglican. To what extent can Anglicanism claim catholicity when it proposes to pursue schism for short-term relief, rather than to hold out for long-term unity?

It is probably clear from the way I framed this question that I do not think this is a wise approach to our current difficulties. But it's not because I disagree with the Lord Archbishop of Canterbury about the impossibility of bringing progressives and conservatives to consensus on human sexuality, the consecration of women bishops, or other controversial issues. It's not because I have a solution he and his predecessors haven't yet thought of. And it's not because I don't think folks just haven't tried hard enough. There is a deeper reason. It is because the decision we make now has repercussions for generations that come after us. We cannot simply make decisions for ourselves, but must take the long view of the implications of walking away from each other. Diplomacy and patience over time--perhaps even several lifetimes--is the only answer.

Michael Cerularius

Imagine if the rigid and hotheaded Papal Legate, Humbert of Silva Candida, and the Patriarch of Constantinople, Michael Cerularius, hadn't succumbed to anger and namecalling and anathematized each other in 1054. Might the Great Schism have happened anyway? Perhaps. But perhaps if everyone had known how irreversible and devastating this exchange of tempers would be for all of Christendom, they would have taken one more deep breath, gone away to cool off, or just agreed to disagree for the time being. Or maybe the Pope would have sent a more irenic and levelheaded representative than Humbert to Constantinople to speak on his behalf. Once the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church was shattered, like Humpty Dumpty, there was no putting the pieces back together again.

Later in the week, after the Welby proposal had aired, I was re-reading a passage in William Sydnor's  The Prayer Book Through the Ages, about the first General Convention of the Episcopal Church in 1789, where there were serious divisions over the draft of the first American Book of Common Prayer and the consecration of Samuel Seabury. Sydnor observes, 

In that company the tensions were great. In addition, those in positions of power were difficult to deal with, and some of them could not get along with certain others. The possibility that this band of apparent irreconcilables might reach any consensus looked dim. But the seemingly impossible was brought about by the patience and statesmanship of those in key positions, principally William White and William Smith. Moreover, it was accomplished without breaking off communion with the Church of England (Sydnor, 61, emphasis mine).

Bishop William White

There are consequences of both giving in to impatience and frustration and of practicing patience and diplomacy. It is heartening to remember how the efforts of the Episcopal Church's first Presiding Bishop, William White--not to mention many others--enabled the American Church to be born and to remain in communion with the See of Canterbury. The heart of Anglican Catholicism for me, then, is the recognition that we need each other when we don't agree with each other, or even when we dislike each other. But instead of slapping a bull of excommunication on the high altar of Hagia Sophia like Humbert, we should accept the fact that unity is out of reach for the present, and yet not walk away. We should realize that unity is not an entitlement, something that should come easily, but something that is hard-won after generations of labor and faithfulness.

In the early Church, schism was one of the worst sins a Christian could commit, and it's not hard to see why, the effects are devastating to the Body of Christ. In the polemics and politics of the Anglican Communion, we should set aside our expectations of immediate gratification and take the long view, the one that Jesus offered us in the Sermon on the Mount: "Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you." Our time is not God's time. We cannot predict when the unity of the Church will become apparent and we will be able to enjoy the fruits of that unity.

Abundant Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Why Episcopal Identity Matters: Part II

Last week's blog offered five reasons why Episcopal identity and practice are still relevant in a pluralistic, post-denominational, and postmodern society. This week, I offer the final five on my list.

St. Augustine of Canterbury

6. A rich theological heritage. The Book of Common Prayer provides a basic framework for Episcopal belief and practice, but Anglicanism boasts a much richer corpus of theological resources. Anglican thought traces its origins back beyond the Reformation to the era of Celtic Christianity and St. Augustine's mission to the English in the late 6th century. The Anglican heritage claims medieval greats, such as the Venerable Bede and Julian of Norwich. It is grounded in the work of major Reformation theologians like Thomas Cranmer and Richard Hooker and the sublime poetry of John Donne and George Herbert, both priests in the Church of England. Anglicanism nurtured the Oxford Fathers who led the Catholic Revival of the mid-19th century, which revitalized Anglican liturgy, hymnody, and architecture. It shaped the Christian Socialism movement later in the century. In this generation, Anglicanism has produced first-rate intellectuals and academicians, such Sarah Coakley, Katherine Tanner, Rowan Williams, and of course, Desmond Tutu.

7. Contemplation and mysticism. Anglicans are not just thinking folk. They are also people open to the deep, internal experience of God. The contemplative life ranges from walking the labyrinth or participating in a centering prayer group to joining one of the professed religious communities of the Anglican Communion, such as the Society of St. John the Evangelist, the Order of Julian of Norwich, or the Brotherhood of St. Gregory.

Chanting the Exsultet at the Easter Vigil.

8. Beautiful music. One of Anglicanism's principal contributions to Christianity is a strong musical repertoire. The Anglican tradition excels in both choral and congregational singing. At an Easter Vigil, you might hear a deacon chant the Exsultet, one of the most ancient and revered pieces of sacred music, followed by a choir performing Anglican chant and plainsong. During the week, you might participate in a Taize service or Choral Evensong with a contemporary setting of the Magnificat. On an average Sunday, you will likely join a congregation in singing hymns written by legendary figures, such as Isaac Watts, John and Charles Wesley, and John Mason Neale.

Map of the Anglican Communion.

9. A global context of belonging. The Episcopal Church is a member of the Anglican Communion, a worldwide fellowship of 38 national and regional provinces in communion with the Archbishop of Canterbury. The Anglican Communion is the third largest body of Christians in the world, after the Roman Catholic Church and the Eastern Orthodox churches. It consists of about 80 million people in 165 countries. Although sharing a common heritage in the Church of England and the Book of Common Prayer, each of these national churches lives out its Anglican identity differently, according to its unique cultural and social context. Some Anglican provinces are more catholic in their worship, while others are more evangelical or charismatic. Some are more socially and theologically liberal, while others are more conservative. The Episcopal Church engages with these other Anglican provinces through a variety of organizations and partnerships, including Episcopal Relief and Development, which offers support during natural disasters, epidemics, and other emergencies, as well as providing resources for long-term development.

10. An anchor in a turbulent world. Recent research from the Pew Research Center for Religion and Public Life and other thinktanks have demonstrated a resurgence of interest in traditional and liturgical forms of Christianity, such as the Episcopal Church. In a world when everything else is constantly changing, postmodern people are learning to value the spiritual grounding that the ancient traditions of Christianity have to offer.

This list is, of course, neither objective nor exhaustive; it is only my perspective on what the Episcopal Church and Anglicanism contribute to the spiritual life. Are there other reasons? Please respond back with your own suggestions and perspectives and add to this discussion.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Why Episcopal Identity Still Matters: Part I

This Sunday, I will conduct the first in a series of four classes on the Episcopal Church, what are often known as "inquirers classes." Although this is standard practice in Episcopal congregations, many might ask if this is still relevant. In a pluralistic, post-denominational society, does it matter whether we are Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist, or Presbyterian? Haven't we evolved past these distinctions?

The answer is both yes and no. I firmly believe that ecumenical and interfaith collaboration is vital to the future of the Church, but I also feel very strongly that denominational identity is still worth building and nurturing. This belief is not the result of some abstract, intellectual exercise, but rather, the experience of my own formation as an Episcopalian. Below are five reasons why I think Episcopal identity still matters.

In Washington National Cathedral.

1. Common prayer. At the heart of the Episcopal identity is the notion of common prayer. As the old Anglican maxim goes, lex orandi, lex credendi, the way we pray shapes what we believe. Although many congregations now pray from Sunday bulletins, rather than pew copies of the Book of Common Prayer, worship is still based largely on the forms and rubrics of the Prayer Book. I can't count the number of times I have been in an unfamiliar city for work or vacation and have wandered into the local Episcopal parish for a Sunday Eucharist or weekday Evening Prayer. Whether it is in a country church, like the one my great-great-great-grandmother founded, or Washington National Cathedral, the patterns of worship remain familiar and consistent. In a strange environment, Episcopal worship has offered a locus of stability and belonging that I have greatly valued in a very fluid and tumultuous world.

2. An appeal to intellect, emotion, and the senses. As one elderly parishioner once said to me, "the Episcopal Church is the thinking man's church." The Anglican tradition has relied heavily on deep theological thinking, informed by Scripture, tradition, and human reason. However, the Episcopal Church has also encouraged people to peer beyond theological inquiry and debate to embrace experiential ways of knowing that engage the emotions and the senses. There is something deeply transformative about sitting in deep silence with others, walking the labyrinth, offering up prayers in great clouds of incense, or joining an entire congregation as they chant the Nicene Creed. Episcopal identity and worship engage the whole person.

Let my prayer be set forth in thy sight as incense.

3. Both ancient and modern. The Episcopal Church has been described as a creedal, rather than a confessional, church. This means that the Episcopal Church does not have a checklist of denominationally specific articles of faith to which members are expected to assent. Episcopalians ground themselves rather in the the Nicene and Apostles' Creeds, which articulate a heritage of faith and belief that goes back to the earliest days of the undivided Church. We may struggle to accept some of the content of these ancient creeds, but we recite them as a sign of our relationship with the generations of Christians that have come before us. But that is not all we are. We are also open to the new things the Holy Spirit has to teach us about what it means to be children of God and followers of Jesus in our own unique contexts. In the Episcopal Church, we value the tension between continuity and discontinuity, between tradition and new discoveries about God.

4. A democratic polity. The governance of the Episcopal Church was deeply influenced by the democratic, representative ethos of the United States, which was born in the same era. The Episcopal Church may be organized around the leadership of bishops, but these bishops are elected democratically by the clergy and lay leadership of each diocese.  At the national level, moreover, the Episcopal Church establishes official policy on a wide range of issues through discussion and shared decision-making that includes bishops and elected representatives of both the clergy and laity of each diocese.

Neighborhood peace vigil.

5. A social conscience. One of the reasons that I came to the Episcopal Church was its progressive stances on social justice issues, such as immigration policy, the ordination of women, and the inclusion of LGBTQ people. However, I have also respected that fact that the Episcopal Church is a very big tent, incorporating people who may not agree with me and supporting a diversity of convictions and outlooks: liberal and conservative, traditional and experimental, mystical and intellectual.

The attributes I have just described are not all unique to the Episcopal Church, but in the aggregate, they shape and define our shared identity as Episcopalians. In order for an individual or a congregation to understand who it is, it needs to be steeped in the larger tradition to which it belongs, to identify where there are shared connections, and whether there is divergence.  Next week: Part II.

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

A Tale of Knives and Nunchucks

An audio recording of this sermon is available by clicking here.

The letter to the Ephesians commands its hearers to, “put on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.” In this day and age, this sort of language seems out of place, whether for its militaristic overtones or the medieval worldview that it invokes. The image of Christian soldiers has often made me very uneasy, reminding me of shameful chapters in our history, like the Crusades and the Inquisition, when people have been oppressed and killed in the name of Jesus, the Prince of Peace. Talk of the devil and evil forces, moreover, seems superstitious and outmoded, calling forth visions of damned beings with horns and tails, inhabiting a realm of eternal suffering and unquenchable fire. And yet, I am here to tell you that these images are still compelling and relevant, even to postmodern people who think they have evolved beyond conventional understandings of angels and demons, of heaven and hell.

A brawl breaks out at Starbucks.

On Tuesday, I sat at a table at the Starbucks on Bryn Mawr in Edgewater, waiting for a parishioner to join me to plan adult forums for the rest of the year. As I sat in front of my laptop leisurely sipping my latte, a commotion erupted, and three men ran past me, swearing and knocking over chairs. At one point, one of these chairs became airborne as one man tried to shield himself from the blows of the other two, who were clearly enraged and bent on inflicting verbal abuse and physical violence. The shop’s patrons were alarmed, and so I packed up my stuff, and dashed outside to find a police officer. By the time I came back a few minutes later, a policeman was leading one of the men out of Starbucks in handcuffs. Over the course of the next several minutes, four more squad cars pulled up to offer backup, and the other two men were taken into custody, as well. The anxiety in the room quickly dissipated, and people returned to their drinks, conversations, and mobile devices. But my story doesn’t end there.

After my meeting, I jumped on the Red Line for my usual commute to Grace. When the trained pulled into the Jackson station, we interrupted another altercation already underway. As the platform came into view, I witnessed a woman attempting to defend herself with nunchucks against a man wielding a knife. The doors opened, and an officer in plain clothes whipped out his badge and shouted, “CPD!”  He exited the train and attempted to separate the two combatants and calm them down. Aided by another police officer in plain clothes, he apprehended the man with the knife, who had attempted to seek refuge on the train, all the while spouting obscenities. I thought about how frightened the German couple standing in front of me must’ve been, their school-age daughter in a wheelchair, facing the door where all of this turmoil was occurring. The two officers managed to subdue the aggressor, remove him from the train, and put him in cuffs. The woman, still holding her nunchucks, thanked the police officers, and announced, “he had the devil in him. He had the devil in him, and he showed his true colors.” I’m not making it up; she really said that.

Jesus' temptation in the wilderness.

It was harrowing to watch both of these scenes unfold before me, and to feel powerless to intervene. I was grateful that the police were responsive and professional during these incidents of unexpected violence that endangered so many innocent bystanders. It was fortunate that an officer just happened to be standing in front of the door -- in my train car -- at that precise moment. I don’t know if it was divine grace or dumb luck, and I frankly didn’t care.  But when I become complacent, feeling that the world is safe, moments like this remind me that human beings can still be agents of great suffering and violence, that evil really exists. I am not saying, of course, that the perpetrators of this violence are evil or are somehow not loved by God, but rather, that human beings—and that includes all of us—are susceptible to the lure of all kinds of sins, to selfish motives and evil urges.  We may not all act on these temptations, but they prod and goad us, encouraging us to give in to our baser impulses. This is what the reading from the Ephesians is all about. The devil is all around you, he’s crafty and powerful, so be on your guard and protect yourself, the reading tells us.  You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re immune. After all, Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness being tempted by Satan, who offered our Lord wealth and power, if only he would bow down and worship him. 

I know that in the twenty-first century, sin is a topic that is out of fashion, and out of sync with contemporary sensibilities. Nobody wants to hear about it. As Jesus’s disciples say to him in this morning’s Gospel, while our Lord is teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum, “this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”  Sin seems like a topic for fire-and-brimstone sermons from the seventeenth century. Besides, the Church has done so much to make us feel bad about ourselves, because of our sexual orientation, gender, or gender identity, or for using birth control or getting divorced, and a host of other things, that we’ve consigned sin to the theological dustheap. But I’m bringing back Old Time Religion this morning just for a moment, because I think we’ve overlooked something. There is a reason that we make our confession every Sunday before receiving Jesus’s body and blood at the altar: sin is real. It is not only the sin we commit as individuals against each other for which we ask for forgiveness, but it is also for our participation in institutionalized sins, such as racism, misogyny, ecological devastation, and rampant consumerism. We have a lot of sin to repent for.

Jesus's Baptism in the Jordan.

Ephesians offers us jarring language that chafes against our inclination to think of ourselves as just fine the way we are. I have always subscribed to the concept of original blessing, rather than original sin. When God said on the sixth day that everything that she had created was very good, I take God at her word. We ARE very good, but that doesn’t mean we can do without God, that we are self-sufficiently moral without God’s help. Even as good as we are, “the spiritual forces of evil” are formidable, and so we need to be vigilant and disciplined, because sin could crop up anywhere, at Starbucks or on the Red Line. To “take the shield of faith, to “fasten the belt of truth,” and to “put on the breastplate of righteousness” expresses the human aspiration to overcome the temptation to give in to sin. “As shoes for your feet,” Ephesians counsels, “put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.” In the face of sin and evil, we wrap ourselves in God, who shelters and protects us like armor.

This topic comes up most poignantly whenever I prepare new Christians, or their parents and godparents, for baptism. “Don’t be put off by the old-timey language,” I tell them. “Your child will face all kinds of evil in her life: human cruelty, apathy to the suffering of others, violence, greed, selfishness, and many other things that will divide her from God and her neighbor. In baptism, we are asking for God’s protection and guidance in such moments.” Indeed, the Baptismal Covenant in the Book of Common Prayer asks the person or sponsor, “will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord.” The response is, “I will, with God’s help.” The Prayer Book suggests that the avoidance of sin is impossible, and so we just plug away as best we can and rely on God’s help to set us back on to the path of peace. As the disciples asked Jesus, I now ask you, “this teaching is difficult; who can accept it?”  

In the Fiery Furnace

Growing up in Florida, I am used to the heat and the humidity. I spent my summers as a child running around barefoot in a swimsuit, only jumping out of the pool for an hour or so when the rain made its scheduled appearance late every afternoon. My feet developed asbestos soles from the many games we played unprotected over blacktop roads and concrete driveways. Sunscreen was purely optional. I braved fire-ants and giant, flying cockroaches. I wandered in woods inhabited by eastern diamondback rattlesnakes and alligators. And muggy doesn't even begin to describe the oppressiveness of the air during the summer months. Yet none of this ever seemed to bother me much.

The extreme heat this past week reminded me of how cavalier and resilient I used to be when I was young. When I walked into the church early Sunday morning, I discovered that someone had accidentally turned the heat on overnight. The whole first floor was stifling. Over the course of the morning, I began to feel weak and a little sick. My heart started racing about halfway through the second service, and I realized that I was likely suffering from dehydration. After mass was over, I knocked back several glasses of water and was fine. Later that day, I stretched out on the sunny lawn at the Ravinia Music Festival, eating a picnic lunch and watching Star Trek while the Chicago Symphony Orchestra played the score live. With the temperature in the mid-90s and the sun blazing directly overhead, I was pretty miserable until the sun started to go down. The heat had completely drained me, and I thought, "What happened? I used to be tougher than this."

Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the furnace.

Human beings are delicate creatures. I envision Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace in the Book of Daniel. In this story, the three Jews defy the Babylonian king, Nebuchadnezzar, declaring, "If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up" (Dan 3:17-18). The story emphasizes not only faithfulness to God in the most oppressive and dangerous situations, but also the fragility of human beings and their ultimate reliance on God. It made me mindful of our homeless sisters and brothers who have to suffer the oppressive heat--not to mention the brutality of Chicago winters--without any guarantee of shelter or comfort. How do they cope when the heat is too stifling and their bodies begin to buckle? How do we help to deliver them, in God's name, from the furnace?

Blessings,
Fr. Ethan+

Queen of Miscellany

When I was first discerning my call to the priesthood, the Diocese arranged for me to meet with three seasoned clergy to learn about the working life of a parish priest. One of these priests was the Rev. Suzi Holding, Rector of the Church of Our Savior in suburban Elmhurst, Illinois. We sat in her office, and she told me a lot about her journey to ordination, her hard-fought success in moving the flags out of the chancel, and the rhythm of her week, with its regular tasks and impromptu demands. The image from the conversation that has stuck with me, though, was that of a doll. If I remember the story correctly, Suzi had received the doll as an ordination gift from a clergy colleague, and was duly named the "Queen of Miscellany," for that is what the life of a priest is like, her friend said.  Suzi, if you're reading this, feel free to correct and elaborate the story.

Volunteers setting up for the community breakfast.

In the three years that I've been ordained, I've found that Suzi's doll is an excellent metaphor for priestly ministry, and no more so than this last week. I've heard many times the joke that it must be nice to have to work only one day a week. So, what does a priest do the rest of the week? Well, in the first eight days as Interim Rector of Grace Place Episcopal Church of Chicago, much of the work has fallen under the miscellany category: administrative and staffing issues; meeting with the parish administrator, music director, and accountant; pastoral care visits with homeless residents; and introducing myself to the building's tenants. In the evenings, meeting with the church wardens and with a young couple to help them plan their upcoming wedding. On Saturday morning, unexpectedly staffing the dessert table at the weekly community breakfast hosted by a Methodist church. And just today, I had a delightful lunch with the head or our liturgy committee, proofed this week's Sunday bulletin, made an appointment to administer last rites, and of course, wrote my weekly blog. It is wonderful to see the building almost always full and busy; and I am grateful for every one of these interruptions or surprises, as well as for the things I had planned to do.

Sunday forum at Grace on Caravaggio's "Supper at Emmaus."

This will come as no surprise to many of my clergy colleagues, for whom this miscellany is the bread and butter of their week. Sermon preparation and presiding at worship are, of course, key responsibilities of the priest, but they often comprise a small part of the job. The nuts-and-bolts of keeping a building running when the boiler breaks (which happened before the first service on Sunday) or printing worship bulletins is just as important to me as being out in front breaking the bread. Sharing lunch or a cup of coffee on a Tuesday is just as important to me as sharing the chalice on Sunday. In fact, I have lunch and coffee appointments every day this week, just to get to know people in a way that I can't on Sunday morning. So, to everyone who's asked what I do all day in this new job, it's a very mixed bag of prayer and process, administration and conversation.  And to the people of Grace, thank you for making time for me to learn about your hopes for the future of the parish and for sharing what's important to you. I hope more of you will do the same.  At the heart of all of this work is a love for God's people and gratitude for all the miscellany and interruptions that come my way. So, keep them coming.

Abundant blessings,
Fr. Ethan+