Letting Go of Idols

           One observation I have had over my years of ordained ministry is that retired clergy are frequently very angry with the Church.  It seems that they have a sense of betrayal by an institution they have served, regardless of whether that sense is grounded in reality or not.

            I have chalked up that sense of feeling betrayed to numerous experiences.  One is a sense that, maybe, they have been forced out before they were ready.  Another might be grounded in the reality that the priest had become emotionally spent long before, and the last year or two were years of utter exhaustion in which resentment against the institution built.  Still one more possibility might be the eagerness and energy with which a successor arrives into the congregation – greeted by a welcoming congregation which had been lethargic in recent years.  The priest feels a sense of betrayal.

            I am quite certain that many cases are grounded in anger at the hierarchy (read the diocesan leadership) who appropriately require the priest to separate from the congregation he or she had served in recent years.  When such a group of people have been the focus of one’s life for so long, it is hard to set those emotions and connections aside.

             The most glaring reason, I suspect, is also the least acknowledged.  It is a dual sense of being discarded combined with the reality, I believe, that the church rewards bad behavior but does not recognize faithful service.  I have seen congregations pay large severance packages to clergy who have been less-than-fully-appropriate in their functioning (In some cases that is a monumental understatement), while other clergy who have been diligent and faithful are given a handshake and shown the door.  There is moral hazard in that approach, in the rewarding of inappropriate behavior over faithful functioning.  I have warned leadership about that tendency in the past, but I do not believe that it has changed.

            Of course, I would point out that all retired priests are granted a wonderful pension benefit.  That particular benefit increases as years of service build. Once one has become vested in the pension system, the benefit can never be removed.  It does not matter how a priest exits active service – through removal for moral reasons or retirement at the end of many years of service.  All of us who have been privileged to serve as priests should feel gratitude for that wonderful benefit.

            Having said all that, I have still noticed that many retired priests feel a sense of alienation from the Church they have served – and, in some cases, even anger.  I think that sense of anger or alienation has many causes and explanations but, regardless, it is there.

            For years I have vowed that I would not allow myself to sink into that pit of anger and despair.  I have loved functioning as a priest.  It has been a blessing beyond words.  I have been blessed to serve at each congregation and in each position.  There have been wonderful friends all along the way.

            So, even with all this awareness of the issues, imagine my surprise when I found myself with a rising sense of resentment.  It slapped me hard in the face as I prepared my sermon for this past Sunday.  It gets touchy when a priest is preaching to himself or herself! But, I was.

            The insight for me was this:  As pilot Chuck Yeager might say, I was holding too tightly to the stick.  Recognizing that my time in this position is coming to an end, I was investing a lot of energy into seeing that things were done right (which, coincidentally, was my way).  My way of doing things had become my idol.  And, surprise of surprises, others would not bow down and worship my idols.

            So the lesson for me is clear: Don’t hold so tightly to the stick.  Let go.  Again, again, and again.  Allow others to assume positions and responsibilities which will provide for a smoother transition.  I must begin to step back from the central role I have had in some areas.  My prayer needs to be an amended Serenity Prayer.

            There is one other element, however, of this gumbo of emotions I am feeling.  It is a dynamic that all priests face, regardless of whether or not there is an awareness of the name.  It is called emotional labor.  Emotional labor is that which is done with either emotions hidden or controlled or that which involves very difficult and stressful work.  All clergy do emotional labor and all pay a price for it.  Sometimes we are able to deal with it appropriately or constructively – such as through prayer, therapy, spiritual direction, or peer support groups.  Other times, when the emotional labor is ignored or not dealt with, it will come out sideways – in ways that will either hurt us or others.  Addiction can be one of those unhelpful offshoots.

            Emotional labor always takes a toll.  Over years, it can become a boulder in the heart instead of just a pebble.  It is much more difficult to bear.

            I am aware I have reached my limit with emotional labor.  I have seen enough sausage made.  It is time to step back, release my burdens, let go of the stick, and take the mule to the barn.

            Sigmund Freud wrote of the talking cure many years ago (a term he actually appropriated from an earlier writer).  This exercise of writing this blog has been a writing cure.  It has allowed me the opportunity to think through, process, and come to some sense of my current state of mind and spirit.

Gordon Gekko and the Gospel

PROPERS:    PROPER 13, YEAR C

TEXT:            COLOSSIANS 3:1-11; LUKE 12:13-21

PREACHED AT ST. PETER’S, OXFORD, ON SUNDAY, JULY 31, 2016.

 

ONE SENTENCE:   Greed, as Paul notes, is a form of idolatry, and that is a reason that wealth can serve as an impediment to the Kingdom.

 

            One of the more memorable movies of the 1980s was the 1987 classic, Wall Street, directed by Oliver Stone.  It starred Michael Douglas and Charlie Sheen in the lead roles – a master and an ambitious understudy.

            The original name of the screenplay was simply, Greed.  It was produced in a decade during which the Dow Jones Industrial Average increased by 250%.  It was a decade flush with prosperity. Morning in America.

            Ironically, the movie debuted some six weeks after the Black Monday crash of October 19, 1987.  That crash only highlighted the dark, ominous themes on which that movie focused.

            In perhaps the most memorable scene of that movie, Michael Douglas’ character, the market genius Gordon Gekko, is speaking to a group of brokers and investors.  They are hanging on his every word, hoping for some juicy insight or market tip.

            “Greed is good,” Gordon Gekko says.  And the gathered crowd does not flinch.

            The pathos of the movie comes when the Charlie Sheen character compromises all he believes in to acquire the material wealth he seeks.  He even betrays his relationship with his father.
            Greed is good, Gordon Gekko tells us.

+ + +

            Paul and Jesus would respectfully disagree.  Paul does so in the lesson from Colossians today.  Jesus does so in the Gospel lesson today, and in many ways in other teachings.
            Paul places the sin of covetousness within the context of a larger, more problematic sin, idolatry. “Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry.”
            That theology is very much in sync with the parable that Jesus shares with us today.  He tells the story of a profitable farmer who, because of his bountiful crops, decides to tear down his barns and build larger storage facilities.  Then, he thinks, he will be able to rely on his ample stores of grain. He will have all he needs; he will be self-sufficient.
            Keep in mind that this is not an evil man.  There is no indication that he treads on the poor, that he mistreats his fellow farmers, or that he benefits from unjust gain.
            No, the issue is where he places his trust.  What gives him his sense of worth – literally, what he worships.   A few verses after this passage, Jesus makes this point very clear: “Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” (Luke 12:34)
            And in Matthew’s gospel, the point is even clearer:  “I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.”

+ + +

            The issue is not wealth, per se.  Nor is it a desire to see your retirement investments do better than the market average.  It has to do with worth – where do you find your value?  Where do you find your meaning? On what is your foundation built?

            The example I am about to share with you is lighthearted.  But it has a strong element of truth to it.

            Years ago, I was a rabid football fan – make that a rabid Ole Miss fan.  I have described the darkest day of my life as that fall afternoon in 1970 when Southern Mississippi beat the undefeated and second-ranked Rebels.  I recall clear as a bell that the running back then known as “little”Willie Heidelburg scored on two double-reverses, and the Rebels lost 30 to 14.  It was awful.

            In fact, fall Saturdays used to be awful for me.  If the Rebels lost – which they did a good bit during my college years and afterwards – I would be in a funk for days.  Nora will tell you.  I was unpleasant to be around during those times.  My palms would sweat during the games.  My heart would pound. My fight-or-flight instinct would be on hair-trigger.  I was a piece of work.

            It had to do with where I placed my value – how I measured my worth.  How I saw the world.  What I considered the ultimate value.

            I know that all sounds immature and irrational, but it was where I was.

            I have jokingly – but also truthfully – said that part of my spiritual maturity was being healed of football.  And I was.  I still enjoy a game, but it does not make or ruin my day.  And if I have something else to do that day, I do it.

+ + +

            Please understand:  I am not holding myself up as a paragon of virtue.  What I shared is merely an illustration.  If I wanted to name a paragon of virtue, it would be Duncan Gray, Jr. But that is another sermon.

            The essence of what Jesus is sharing with us is that we have worth beyond our belongings.  We do not need to find our foundations in wealth, belongings, status, position, influence, power, accomplishments, or anything else of – as Paul notes – an earthly nature.

            The fundamental issue with greed is that it confuses what one has with what one is.  Our essential value is not in our possessions or any other qualifier, our true value is elsewhere.

            Our value comes in our relationship to God.  It is in that transcendent connection – one that permeates every fiber of our being – that we are truly grounded.

            The old bumper sticker used to say, “The one with the most toys at the end wins.”  That may be true from a material, worldly perspective, but it is not true from a scriptural perspective.

            If you watch Jesus closely, as he meanders from Galilee through Samaria, the Decapolis and finally to Jerusalem, you can see very clearly that it is not ones possessions, station in life or in society that he values, with which he connects. 

            Instead, he points toward the value which is found in the transformed world of his reign – a world in which the poor in spirit, the grieving, the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the persecuted, and those who hunger for righteousness are the blessed ones.

            We cannot add one ounce of value to who we are.  But we can subtract from our value – by racing after those larger barns of our idolatry – whatever form they may take.

            I am reminded of a sermon my curacy supervisor, the Reverend Bronson Bryant, preached years ago.  He told of someone who had died – someone who had great riches.  A friend asked the preacher if the person who had died had left a large estate.  The preacher responded: “Oh, yes!  He left it all.”

            Ultimately we leave it all. It is all dross to be consumed – possessions, status, prestige, power or wealth.  Anything we idolize; whatever we put on a throne.  It is our relationship to God and the legacy of good we do in his name which survive our transition.

Celebrating Bishop Duncan M. Gray, Jr.

 

PROPERS:    BURIAL OF THE DEAD, RITE II

TEXT:            ROMANS 8:14-19,34-35,37-39       

PREACHED AT THE FUNERAL OF THE RIGHT REVEREND DUNCAN M. GRAY, JR., AT ST. ANDREW’S CATHEDRAL ON TUESDAY, JULY 19, 2016

 

ONE SENTENCE:   The life of Duncan Gray, as admirable as it was, is not an object of emulation; He pointed us toward the North Star, the true object of faith.

 

            Some years ago, just before I left Starkville to join the diocesan staff, our home phone rang.  Daughter Leigh answered it. 

            “Daddy,” she said, “It’s Bishop Gray.”

            That was not enough information.  There was more than one.  “Which Bishop Gray?” I asked.

            Her response was immediate and emphatic: “Bishop  Bishop Gray,” she said.

            That was all I needed to know. Bishop Bishop Gray answered the question.

            You know what I mean.

+ + +

            Some years earlier, Scott Lenoir and I were traveling from Starkville, to attend a golf gathering in North Carolina.

            It was just past dusk when we were driving east on Highway 82, between Starkville and Columbus.  A bright light appeared in the darkening eastern sky.

            “What is that?” I asked Scott.

            Scott is an experienced astronomer.  He said, “Oh, that’s Venus.”

            We drove along quietly for a few minutes as I watched the light.  It grew brighter and closer.

            “Don’t look now,” I said, “but Venus is about to land at Golden Triangle Airport.”

+ + +

            Naval officers are going through some old-fashioned training these days.  Knowing that they rely too much on technology to determine their location on the seas, they are once again learning the skill of dead-reckoning – relying on celestial bodies to give their positions.

            As the experience Scott Lenoir and I shared indicated, there are a lot of false indicators in the world.  There are planets, there are airplanes, there are brief-but-dazzling shooting stars, and there is the constant:  The North Star.

            Likewise, in this world, there are a lot of bright, glittering, superficially persuasive ideas, philosophies, and approaches to life. They are attractive and distracting.

            For thousands of years, navigators have looked toward the North Star to gain their bearings, and to know where they are.

            Likewise, many people seek to find their bearings in a very complex world.  We seek the spiritual North Star.

+ + +

            Duncan Montgomery Gray, Jr., was not the North Star, but he pointed us toward it.  His life was a persistent pointing toward that which would ground us – faith in Jesus Christ.

+ + +

           It would be easy to reduce the span of nearly 90 years to one event – significant and important, though it was.  His life was so much more; so rich; so profound; so impactful.

           Thousands of people – over a period of more than 60 years – found their bearings because of the way he pointed.

+ + +

            He was a man of courage – that we all know.

            The story of his attempt to quell the rioting crowd at Ole Miss on September 30, 1962 is well known.  Less well known is the stance he took as president of the School of Theology student body in 1953 – even in opposition to the university’s administration.

            And there was the courageous leadership he provided in the tense days in Meridian – when synagogues, churches, and homes were being bombed, and deadly threats were a part of life.

            But he was not the North Star. 

+ + +

            He was faithful – especially to his wife and family.  Of course, his marriage to his beloved Ruthie for more than 63 years is well known.  They were inseparable.  They were utterly devoted to each other.

            I recall that he had a sign on his credenza in the old diocesan office at the Cathedral.  It said, simply, “The greatest gift a father can give his children is to love their mother.” And he did.

            He and Ruthie reared four children – Duncan, Anne, Lloyd, and Catherine.  They have carried their father and mother’s character forward.

            But he was not the North Star. 

+ + +

            He was steadfast.  This is a man – who, as priest and as bishop – faced many difficult times.  Yet he maintained his course – difficult though the times may have been.

            I had a brief glimpse of his steadfastness in a dark restaurant in Hattiesburg many years ago.  I had to be the bearer of some very difficult news.  As we sat there and I told him what I needed to tell him, his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, and his hand closed tightly as he processed the news.  I glimpsed a bit of the awesomeness of the responsibility which was his.

            But he did not flinch.  He did what was right. No one else knew what he carried with him.

            But he was not the North Star. 

+ + +

           He was a mentor. Lowell Grisham wrote of the fact that Bishop Gray was his childhood priest – and a model for him of what a priest should be.  And, he noted, that there are probably several hundred of us who feel that way.

            During his 19-year Episcopate, he ordained 58 deacons and 56 priests.  Many of us here were formed by his steady guidance, his wise mentorship, and, perhaps, most of all, his resilient patience.

            But he was not the North Star. 

+ + +

            He was an evangelist.  He preached the Word.  He led by example.  He brought people into the faith and showed them the pathway towards the light.

            During his Episcopate, he baptized 852 new Christians.  He confirmed or received 11,446 Episcopalians.  He preached 2,034 sermons.  And, Lord knows how many miles he traveled.

            But he was not the North Star.

+ + +

            He was humble.  Even though most of us knew what a remarkable man it was we were walking with, he never seemed to realize that himself.  He was modest, self-effacing, and he always pointed toward others when credit or praise was appropriate.

            He was admired among his peers – both of his order and of his generation.  His wisdom was valued; his perspective sought. Yet, he never seemed to bask in that praise.

            Ruthie summed it up so well.  “You know what’s so wonderful is that he doesn’t even know it.”

           But he was not the North Star.

+ + +

           Suffice it to say, that he knew he was not the North Star. And I think he would want us to be mindful of that reality at this moment… even as we focus on a life well and faithfully lived.

           His death… his body present here with us… points us instead toward the seamlessness of God’s realm – just as his life pointed us toward the Ground of Our Being.  Though we look through a glass darkly, we are able to glimpse, through eyes of hope, the eternal reality to which he pointed so relentlessly.

           And that reality is summed up so powerfully in the words of Paul we read today:

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 

           He showed us the way.  He pointed us to the North Star.  He wants us to follow.

 

Times That Try Souls

PROPERS:    PROPER 10, YEAR C

TEXT:            LUKE 10:25-37

PREACHED AT TRINITY CHURCH, HATTIESBURG, ON SUNDAY, JULY 10, 2016.

 

ONE SENTENCE:   The essence of the Gospel – allowing love to overcome categories and tribalism – is still the best medicine in a world of suspicion and mistrust.

 

            “These are times that try men’s souls.”
            Those were the memorable first words of Thomas Paine’s pamphlet, The Crisis, published on December 23, 1776.

            Paine had barely been in the American colonies two years, yet he had already come to know the dynamics of his day.  He had already rung the firebell of revolution with his earlier pamphlet, Common Sense.

            Indeed, those were days that tried men’s souls.  As are these days.

+ + +

            A few years ago, I read contemporary historian Rick Perlstein’s book, Nixonland.  It was a detailed, day-by-day account of the United States in election year 1968.

            It was breathtaking in its sweep.  It brought to mind details of that dramatic year which had long-since passed from my memory.

            There were the big events: Johnson’s renunciation of a presidential bid; Martin Luther King’s assassination; Bobby Kennedy’s assassination; riots in the streets of the cities; the Vietnam War; and the dramatic and tightly fought election that year.

            I recall that year as clearly as any in my life.  I guess you could say I came of age.  The movie Wild in the Streets made the song Born to be Wild an anthem for a generation.  If you can imagine this, I embraced it as my theme song.

            All that is to say that 1968 was a tumultuous year.  It was the pivot-point of an entire nation.  And things did not get better.

            1968 was followed a tide of cynicism.  The war continued.  People became more estranged from one another. Watergate ensued.  A president resigned office.

            As Queen Elizabeth termed one year, our annus horribilis of 1968 was not the end, but a continuation of an era of bad feelings.

+ + +

            I needn’t dwell on the difficulties of the past week.  There has been too much pain, much grief, copious amounts of horror, and a rising tide of estrangement.

            And I have been reminded of 1968 – and not for good reasons.  It is an uncomfortable feeling.  It seems portentous.  I am wondering what will be the next shoe to drop.

            And I am wondering what we, as people of faith can do.

+ + +

            Into this week comes the gospel lesson – the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

            Jesus is asked a simple question:  “Who is my neighbor?” The question raised a pertinent point –for then and for today.

Keep in mind that the world in which Jesus lived was a tribal world.  There were Jews. There were Samaritans.  There were the people of other nations and faiths.  The account of Pentecost Day from the Book of Acts describes them: Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene… Cretan and Arabs…

            The tribalism of that culture ruled the day.  In fact, tribalism still animates the conflict of the Middle East.  Lawrence of Arabia encountered in the early 20^th century.  In many ways, it is the dividing force – even today – in Jesus’ part of the world.  Suspicion of the other.  The stranger.  The person who, for whatever reason, is different.

            Jesus tries to lance that cultural boil.  He tells a parable that describes a priest passing an injured man on the roadside – and walking on the other side.  Likewise, he tells of Levite – a member of a sacred caste of Jews – passing the injured man as well.  Neither man gave aid or comfort to the injured man.

            But there came a Samaritan – an other; an unclean person; one to be shunned by people of faith – who tended the wounded man, who took him to a place of rest, healing and refuge, and saw that he was cared for.

            Jesus ends the story with a question:  “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”  When the lawyer answered, “The one who showed him mercy,” Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”

            Go and do likewise.  Wise words for our time.

+ + +  

            Years ago, when I was just a boy, my family would gather around a piano in my great-grandfather’s house, just down Hardy Street from here.  When my aunt was there, we would join together as she played some of my great-grandfather’s favorite hymns.

            It was a cringe-worthy moment for a teenage boy, but I now cherish those memories.

            My great-grandfather was a staunch Methodist and I suspect we sang hymns from a long-past hymnal.  One of his favorites, which we would sing, would be Give Me that Old Time Religion.

            The hymn likely emerged from the Black Gospel and Southern Gospel traditions in the late 19^th Century.  My great-grandfather loved it and its very simple message:

Give me that old time religion,

Give me that old time religion,

Give me that old time religion,

It’s good enough for me. 

            Call me naïve – which I may well be – but I think we need today the old time religion expressed in Jesus’ parable today.  If we could stop seeing one another as the other we could structure our world, our culture, and our society on what our founders described as a more perfect union.

            We have heard this message preached.  We have heard the story again and again.  And the fact is that G. K. Chesterton was right: “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried.”
             Christianity is hard,  It is demanding.  It is so much more than a feel-good, personal experience.  It requires us to intentionally alter our normal, cultural methods of relating to one another.  We cannot simply embrace what we could call cultural Christianity -- without having have lives transformed -- and expect a different world.

            It is time to truly try Christianity – to read, learn, mark, and inwardly digest the teachings of Jesus, such as the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

           We need to rise above and move beyond the tribal culturalism which infects our society.  We need to be transformed – to be counter-cultural.  We need to show people that we see them not as a class, as a uniform, or as some projection of our own fears and biases, and that we see them instead as brothers and sisters of the same God.

            Perhaps if you and I can do it, our transformation of perspective and behavior will affect others.  And bit-by-bit, we will begin to change the world.

 

After the Fire

I should say at the outset that I cannot predict the future.  It is folly to think I can – or that anyone can.  In each arena of life, there are too many moving parts.  If we delude ourselves, we think that we can manage a few of those variables.  But we really can’t.  The vast majority of factors is out of our control and beyond our ability to see. 

The future of the Episcopal Church is like that.  We are a small boat in a vast sea of change.  Societal and cultural waves are rocking our little boat, as they are with all the other ecclesial craft on the turbulent sea.  Some are much larger than us, but none can control or even foresee the events which await us over the horizon. 

We do what we do on a wing and a prayer.  We make our decisions in hope.  That is what the 78^th Convention of the Episcopal Church did in Salt Lake City.  The Convention made decisions which it hoped would move the church constructively into the future.  Some celebrate that course.  Some grieve it.  But none of us knows for sure what awaits us.

It is with that caveat that I offer the following hopeful metaphor.

After General Convention, Nora and I traveled to Yellowstone National Park.  It is a place of breathtaking scenery.  The vistas there are beyond description.  It would have been impossible for me to prepare myself for what I encountered there.  It should be on each person’s bucket list.

As we made our initial drive into that massive park (more than 3,000 square miles), I was struck by one element of the landscape.  Most of the trees we saw were very young.  The forest canopy which I had anticipated was largely not present.  The trunks of older trees were lying on the forest floor – like matchsticks thrown across a flat surface.  I observed this phenomenon for miles and miles as we drove into the park.

Then it occurred to me.  I recalled that Yellowstone had experienced devastating forest fires some years before.  I remembered seeing the news coverage of the massive firestorm.  The images of fire surrounding the Old Faithful Inn came to mind. I realized I was seeing the lingering effects of that blaze.

I could not recall precisely when that fire occurred.  The older I get, the faster time seems to pass.  In younger days, I could place all events within a specific context – how the events related to high school graduation, or a specific Ole Miss football game, or maybe a pivotal election (I was a political geek).  However, I could not place the time of the great Yellowstone fire.

Then I saw a marker, commemorating that epochal event.  The year was 1989 – much farther back than I would have guessed.  By that reference, though, I was able to place those young trees in context.

I saw more information on the fire.  While we tourists might view the fire as a terribly disruptive and destructive event, conservationists and the park rangers see the fire as a renewal of the forest.  In the blaze, much of the overgrown forest floor is consumed. Dry wood and brush are burned. Old, dying trees go up in smoke. The forest is scoured by the flames.

Something interesting happens in the fire, though.  The burning trees cast their seeds to the wind.  The wind scatters those seeds and, along with them, the beginning of a renewed forest is born.  The conservationists see naturally-occurring forest fires as a means for the land’s renewal.

Like the Phoenix, the renewed forest arises out of the ashes.  Like Christ, the forest comes from the silence of the tomb.  New life emerges from the old.

There was an additional element that Nora and I saw.  As we traveled around the park (we spent four nights there, at three different lodges), we saw a mixed multitude of people there.  The visitors and workers there were apparently of all colors, races, ethnic origins, shapes, sizes, and any other variable you might envision.  There were Anglos, African-Americans, Latinos, Asians, Germans, Russians – lots of variety in the people around the park.  There were so many languages and accents that I heard, I lost track.

It occurred to me that all of this – the forest, the scenery, the wildlife, the visitors, the staff – had all emerged through the experience of the fire.  No doubt it was a searing and frightening experience.  I suspect people wondered about the viability and future of Yellowstone – whether she would ever regain her lost glory.

Indeed she has.  The park is certainly different now.  No doubt about that. She is still emerging from the flames, the smoke, and the ashes.  Yet she is drawing people from near and far, and she has a compelling beauty to share with all who enter her four gates.  She has much to share.

Yellowstone seemed to me to be a metaphor for the Episcopal Church.  We too have been through the fires which have raged around us.  The fires go back at least to the 1960s, when the church began to wrestle with its sense of call to ministries of social justice.  Those fires flamed in the years following, with the decision on the ordination of women and prayer book revision.  In recent years, the flames have centered on diminishing membership, the prophetic voice of the church, and the church’s understanding of the appropriate sacramental response to people in same gender relationships.  Serving as an overlay to all this is the significantly altered role of the Episcopal Church – from its historic place as a powerful,  almost-established church to its place now largely on the fringes of culture.

We may have more flames yet to come. But if we are faithful, if we tend the soil of our hearts and spirits, if we are true to our call from God, we too will emerge from the ashes, blossoming with new life.

Perhaps, also, we will be like the renewed Yellowstone.  We will draw a mixed multitude of people – persons of many races, perspectives, opinions, needs, and views. There is room for all.

The future is unsure.  That is certain. But this is a vision of what may be.

"Moving Day" at General Convention

Wednesday was “moving day” as one General Convention staff member described it – using the metaphor of Friday in a PGA tournament for the convention’s action on major items.  Those two major issues were structure and marriage.

Much of my focus at this General Convention has been on structure.  I was appointed to General Convention Committee 5 – Governance and Structure, and much of my time and energy (and frustration) have been connected with that committee.  I will be happy to share more of that subject’s action in a few moments.

The marriage subject has been less of a focus for me, other than having read the report from the Task Force on the Study of Marriage, which was issued earlier this year.  It was that report which served as the foundation for the legislation which the Convention has approved.

I was on the floor Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning for the debate on structure.  I was not on the floor Thursday afternoon for the debate on the marriage resolutions.  I can speak with some knowledge and authority on the former, and not much on the latter.

I know that the hot topic for many people is the General Convention action on marriage.  General Convention has extended the use of "I Will Bless You and You Will Be a Blessing", which was passed by the 77^th General Convention for use in jurisdictions, with the approval of the Bishop of that diocese. Another version of that rite, but for use in a marriage, was one of three trial rites approved Wednesday. The other two changes affect the language of the two marriage rites currently in the Book of Common Prayer, making them gender neutral.

Trial rites are a first step towards prayer book revision but will not necessarily be what is in a new prayer book. I also understand that Title I, Canon 18, was amended to make various changes, with much of the focus being on replacing "man and woman" or "husband and wife" with "two parties" or "the couple" (this is the same language used in the new trial rites). My understanding is that this terminology is actually what was in the canons many years ago.

There are, of course, strong feeling on both sides of this matter.  I am certain that I am taking a very complex matter and reducing it to just a couple of paragraphs.  But that is what I am prepared to do at this time.  I strongly suspect there will be continuing conversations and insights in this matter.

I would note, however, that Bishops continue to have the authority to either allow or not allow marriages of same gender couples in their jurisdictions; that the church’s involvement must conform to civil law and canons; and that clergy continue to have the right to decline to officiate at any marriage (a right that has been in place for many, many years).  I know that such provisions do not satisfy anyone.

Having read a few blogs in the last few hours, I see that one of the main objections to General Convention action is that convention amended canons to make the change, rather than beginning the process to amend the Constitution, which is the usual manner for changing the Book of Common Prayer. (A constitutional amendment requires approval of the change by two successive General Conventions.)  I believe I am correct in noting that the canonical amendment route (requiring only one year) was the same process and the same focus of the stated objection when the ordination of women was approved.

The Reverend David Knight, a member of the Mississippi deputation, served on the Task Force for the Study of Marriage, and would be an appropriate person to contact with questions about this subject. 

No one should be surprised by this decision.  The Episcopal Church has shown a gradual inclination toward moving in this direction for many years.

Now, to structure.  In my previous blog posting (Can a Zebra Change its Own Stripes?), I shared my frustration with the process of considering, deliberating, and drafting resolutions by this committee.  After having offered my concerns and becoming more and more frustrated with the process, I had stopped attending committee meetings.

One of my primary concerns had to do with the section of one resolution which allowed the Executive Council (the “vestry” of the Episcopal Church) to “direct” the Presiding Bishop to dismiss any of the three top officials of the Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society (the formal name of the Episcopal Church).  That would have included the Chief Operating Officer, the Chief Financial Officer, and the Chief Legal Officer.  There is no parallel ability of vestries, standing committees, or executive committees to force similar action in congregations or diocesan structures.  I believed that such a canon would have impinged on the freedom of the Presiding Bishop to choose and keep staff.

My effort to amend that section was defeated in committee – and overwhelmingly.  However, it was with a great sense of relief that, when the resolution came to the floor of the House of Deputies on Wednesday, that provision was removed from the resolution, in a formal vote on the floor.

While we considered the various structure resolutions, we agreed to keep Executive Council the same size (42 members!), but we reduced the number of Standing Commissions (interim bodies created by the canons and in perpetual existence) from 14 to two.  In this action, General Convention indicated that it wishes to reduce the bureaucracy of the upper levels of the Church.

I would note that I still stand behind my belief – stated in yesterday’s blog – that the renewal, revitalization, and reenergizing of the Church will come, not from the upper levels, but from congregations, dioceses, provinces, and voluntary associations within the Church.

Over the last few months and the course of this convention, I have come to a broader awareness of the call of the Church and my place in it.  More on that later…