Thought for 04.09.13

Conscience is the voice telling you that you are wrong. Ego is the voice telling you everyone else is.

—Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

A Question of Authority

Over at the House of Bishops/Deputies Listserv a discussion started concerning the so-called “supremacy” or “authority” of Scripture — particularly in relation to which leg of Hooker’s putative three-legged stool constituted the greatest “authority.” It is commonly asserted, for example, that reason cannot trump Scripture. This notion runs contrary to one of Hooker’s basic principles: that reason is a necessary implement without which Scripture cannot fruitfully be used. He also said,

The force of arguments drawn from the authority of Scripture itself, as Scriptures commonly are alleged, shall (being sifted) be found to depend upon the strength of this so much despised and debased authority of man? Surely it doth, and that oftener than we are aware of... Even such as are readiest to cite for one thing five hundred sentences of holy Scripture; what warrant have they, that any one of them doth mean the thing for which it is alleged? Is not their surest ground most commonly, either some probable conjecture of their own, or the judgment of others taking those Scriptures as they do?... That some things which they maintain, as far as some men can probably conjecture, do seem to have been out of Scripture not absurdly gathered. Is this a warrant sufficient for any man’s conscience...? (Lawes, II.VII.8)

So which is of the greater “authority”?

From my perspective, before such a question can be answered, we have to say what we mean by “authority.” I have long used the definition, “the capacity to issue commands with a reasonable expectation they will be followed.”

With that in mind, my view is that Scripture is not a source of “authority.” (Any more that “Reason” is — Reason is how we think, a tool, a method, not a “source of authority” in and of itself. As for Tradition, I’d say it is also not an authority, but a record of previous decisions, all of them subject to re-examination and change by the real authority — the church. But I'm getting ahead of myself.)

So back to Scripture. It is — as it calls itself, or as it has been called for so very long — testimony or covenant. It is evidence presented for our acceptance, or something to which we agree to bind ourselves. The fact that our acceptance or agreement is voluntary rather than coerced indicates that this is not a question of authority, but of relationship.

As testimony, the Scripture functions in the way any good prophet or witness would — pointing not to itself but to God. It is a “ministering (ev)angel” and a servant of God sent to tell us certain truths about God. This is the whole point of “revelation.” But Scripture is not that to which it points. It is not God.

It is obvious that the Scripture does contain a number of commands issued with an expectation that they will be obeyed — and in many cases presented as the commands of God. But the interpretation and implementation of those commands — even those from God — are under the church’s authority. The church believes itself to be competent to amend or even to set aside some of these commands — even divine commands. (One of the things that brings discredit on churches — even some of the most fundamentalist — is their pledge of allegiance to inerrancy of Scripture or “sola Scriptura” combined with their manifest failure always to abide by “plain readings,” or their inconsistent or selective application of Scripture to situations and circumstances. I have no beef with Orthodox Jews who really do attempt to live by the Law as closely as they are able; or the few Christian sects who actually do attempt to live a first-century life of apostolic simplicity — but the demonstrable inconsistency of most evangelicals and fundamentalists is simply scandalous — in the classic sense.)

The fact is, most Christian churches do interpret and apply the Scripture — demonstrating their decisive authority over it. Various criteria have been provided for making such decisions over the years — beginning with the earliest understanding that Jesus himself had set aside the dietary commandments (a setting aside which Peter seems to have been unwilling to adopt until his vision of the sheet let down from heaven — a vision he soon came to understand wasn’t about food at all).

The Apostles later set aside the whole of the Law — for Gentiles — except for provisions either designed to maintain table-fellowship, or as part of the Noachide tradition (these are two prevailing theories — though I have argued in Reasonable and Holy that in setting aside the Jewish Law they understood that Gentiles still had to forgo things already forbidden under Gentile law, such as murder or adultery, but only felt the need to add to the list of forbidden actions permitted to Gentiles under their law, such as idolatry and eating blood).

The early and later church exercised its authority and further finessed these understandings. The Church of Rome has long, and rightly, and bluntly, asserted its authority over Scripture. Anglicans came up with the fudgy notion concerning authority in rites and ceremonies, but also in fact felt free to, and did, alter moral teachings — and to be fully above-board and frank, the “testimony” of Scripture itself does not make such distinctions concerning its laws. (Even amongst the Ten Commandments — the only portion of the Law considered to have been written with God’s own hand — the Law of the Sabbath is plainly “ritual.” And, in fact, the church felt free to alter the observance of the Sabbath by a day, and now scarcely holds a memory of the fact that, biblically speaking, Sabbath-breaking is a capital offense!)

All of this indicates that the real authority is the church — whether it wants to make this a matter of stated doctrine, as Rome does, or fudge it as Anglicans do. The church makes the decisions on the meaning and application of Scripture. And by “church” I mean any church that declares itself to be such. There is no “authority” to gainsay such actions, since the demise of the coercive power of a church in league with the secular arm of its nation or empire to require obedience on threat of punishment or death. Some may bemoan that fact, but that it is a fact is incontestable.

So, in short, I think the word “authority” should be retired when referring to Scripture. I prefer to stick with the classical Anglican understanding of “sufficiency” unto salvation, the end to which it was given by God.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

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The Just Judge and Us

The story of the woman taken in adultery is often cited when people are talking about the church’s responsibility to offer discernment, or even judgment, in spite of Jesus’ explicit command not to judge (Mt 7.1, Lk 6.37). It is true that this story is often misused from the liberal end of the spectrum, and people forget the final line, “Go, and do not be sinning any more.” Let us not, however, omit a crucial part of the story. After all the accusers slink away, “condemned in their own consciences” as some versions say, Jesus says to the woman, “Who has condemned you?” [i.e., Who made themselves judges over you?]. “No one,” she said. “Neither do I condemn you. Go and do not be sinning any more.”

Jesus — the only human being qualified to judge (because of Who He Is) — here refuses to judge, even in a case where guilt is clear. If he refuses to judge, how dare we presume to judge? The point of the story must be that no one who is a sinner (and all are sinners) can judge another, especially if the only sinless one, Jesus, refused to exercise that role. Jesus refuses to play the judgment game. (See also Jn 8:15-16, 12.47–49 [and 3.17–18]).

Not that he will always refuse it, nor that we will not partake in the judgment (both in the dock and on the bench). But the Judgment is reserved to the End, the Last Day. At that time, not now, Jesus and his Chosen Ones will judge the world. And his Chosen Ones include the people of Nineveh, and the Queen of the South, as well as the Apostles. (Mt 10.15, 12.41–42, 19.28; Jn 5.22-24,29, 12.48). For the time being, the world judges wrongly (Jn 16.8-11), and Jesus warns us neither to judge nor condemn on the basis of partial evidence — for until the Last Day when all is revealed, we have only partial evidence, having, as Paul says, imperfect knowledge. (Mt 7.1–5, 12.7; Luke 6.37, see also Rm 2.1–5, and Jn 7.24.)

I served jury duty over the last several weeks, and one of the instructions the judge gave at the beginning of the case was that we were to form no conclusions until we had heard all of the evidence, and then to deliberate on the basis of that evidence. (The case settled before we reached that point.)

How much better the church would be if instead of condemning and judging others we looked into our own hearts and confessed our faults (which are many) to one another, seeking the help and support of our companions in pilgrimage? And waited in patience for all to be revealed?

Here is my prayer for the church:

What kind of church we are to be? Shall it be the “O.K. Club” or “St Saviour’s Hospital”? The church of those who are at ease in Zion, or those who dwell in the exile of Babylon? Will it be the church of the Pharisee or the Publican? Of those who bind burdens, or those who liberate? The church of Caiaphas, secure in his skill, or of Cephas, who knew his failings? The church of Paul at his worst, or Paul at his best? Will it be the church of those who close the door on others, or of those who are trying to get in? Will it be the church of those for whom the Decalogue, the Summary of the Law, and the Golden Rule are not enough, or of those who know how hard it is to follow even these high standards? Will it be the church of those who are prepared to cast stones, and were condemned by their own consciences, or those whom they accuse, and whom Jesus refuses to condemn? Will it be the church of those who sit in judgment, or of those who love much, and minister to Jesus by washing his feet with their tears?

I pray our church will be a wing of St Saviour’s Hospital. There are no outpatients there, and everyone who arrives is a terminal case: they die to self, in order to rise to life everlasting. For the church is not a society of nice people who obey the rules. The church is the Body of Christ. There is no salvation in the Law. None. The Law did not and will not save us. Jesus did and will.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

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The Pluperfect Mindset

In response to the ordinations of two new bishops in Los Angeles yesterday, the usual suspects from the Anglican Right are atwitter with comments about further rifts or tears in the Anglican Communion, accusations that the Episcopal Church has now walked apart in some formal way from that Communion, and that it certainly can't in good conscience sign on to the Anglican Covenant (as they conceive it, in a kind of anticipatory prejudgment of exactly what the policies and objects of discipline might be down the road once the new body is actually, well, embodied.)

It is important to remember that any "rift" or "tear" or any such "transection" is at this point "a rift in the Anglican Communion" -- it is not a rift between the Anglican Communion and some entity not a part (or no longer a part, as Anglican Mainstream and others would have it) of the Anglican Communion. No one has "walked apart" from the rest of the Anglican Communion, except perhaps those portions of it, such as Nigeria and parts of GAFCON / FoCA, who have chosen actually to reject the See of Canterbury as a focal point for gathering the Anglican episcopate for consultation, or who have established separatist outposts within the confines of other Anglican jurisdictions, declaring they are out of communion with the larger body.

So much of this is based on the self-fulfilling false prophecy of those who attribute more authority to the Instruments of Communion than they have heretofore exercised, or than they have been granted by the actual member churches and provinces of the Communion. Thus, conferring and consulting bodies have been lacquered with a quick coat of putative authority, which cannot completely cover the underlying texture: these bodies are not yet in possession of the powers with which some would like to invest them.

The fact is, a number of member churches disagree on a number of issues. (What else is new?) What we can say with some historical perspective is that Lambeth has no doctrinal authority (yet!); the Primates may express an opinion; but dissenters both to the left and the right are under absolutely no obligation to follow or concur with the judgment either of the gathered bishops or the Primates. The Windsor Report contains recommendations that the provinces have yet to endorse or act upon in a definitive way — and that includes TEC as well as ACNA, both of whom have taken actions contrary to the wishes expressed in Windsor.

Those at present with their undergarments in a tangle display a very much "make it up as we go along" sort of ecclesiology, in which they act as if what they want is what already is. Unless and until some form of the Anglican Covenant is signed off on, the Anglican Communion remains a "fellowship of autonomous provinces and churches" without a central governing authority, and with, at present, some serious disagreements among its members.

Only those who agree to the proposed Covenant will be part of whatever new constellation emerges, and will presumably submit to whatever governance to which they have covenanted. But for the meantime they are living in the pluperfect, as the New Anglican Thing has not yet come to be. And much depends on who signs up. (I've said before, I'd welcome a little more structure to the Anglican Communion. Either that or clearly back to that "fellowship." It's this living in-between with made up rules and assertion and arrogation of authority not yet conferred that I find wearing, troubling and un-Christ-like.)

In the meantime, Diane and Mary are bishops in good standing in the Episcopal Church, and hence, in the Anglican Communion. They will be welcome where they are welcome, and rebuffed where they will be rebuffed: actions entirely within the competency of any diocesan bishop outside of Los Angeles.

Deal with it.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

Loser Take All

Virginia Theological Seminary has published an article by James Baker. Yes, that James Baker. I'm always wary of people who say, "I'm not an expert in X, but it seems to me..." This articles gives me no reason to lose my wariness. In it, Baker suggests something like a kind of congregational polity for handling differences of opinion in The Episcopal Church, whereby individual parishes could officially vote on things they [mostly] don't like about what the rest of the church has done through General Convention.

Why is it that proposals like this for "local option" always seem to come up when the church is moving in a progressive direction, but are shunned like the dickens when more conservative folks hold sway. Compare the appeal for the Port St. Lucie "Conscience Clause" with the ardent critique of "local option" on same-sex blessings, par example. (I'll note this doesn't seem to happen only in the church: the state provides ample evidence of similar tendencies. Maybe it is just that conservatives -- sacred or secular -- can't bear to be in the minority?)

Baker's proposal seems to me merely to formalize (and set in concrete) more or less what we already have de facto in terms of the prevailing issue, anyway (which is the issue Baker uses to frame the proposal): i.e., no parish is forced to call a gay or lesbian priest, or perform a same-sex blessing. There are many dioceses in which neither will happen for quite some time. Should the day come when parishes are actually required so to do, it will only be because in the course of time opposition has so far dwindled that any "vote" such as Baker proposes would produce the same result. Just how much does a democratic institution have to allow a local veto to joint decisions -- at least in the official and formal way Baker suggests?

In short, I think the system we have now provides for an ample degree of laissez-faire and toleration of moderate dissent without institutionalizing it, setting it in stone, and creating a Balkanized Church. And let's be frank once again: the problem isn't that a portion of Episcopalians don't like gay or lesbian bishops or couples getting blessed and don't want to have to deal with them. The problem is that a portion of Episcopalians don't want there to be any gay or lesbian clergy, far less, bishops, or same-sex marriages. They want what they want, for everyone. So it is not a question of laissez-faire not working, but the desire of a minority to have their way not just for themselves, but for the whole Episcopal Church -- and when they cannot achieve this through the canonical structures of General Convention it is a case of "loser take all."

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG
begging pardon for taking off the gloves for a bit...

Early Annunciation for Another Mary

Word has come from the Presiding Bishop's office that sufficient episcopal and standing committee consents have been received for the ordination of Mary Glasspool to the episcopate in mid-May. Many will rejoice at this, myself included, but many also will be troubled — and I feel for them as well. Change is often difficult, and I know many will be wounded in their conscience, or concerned for possible consequences, even as others give thanks and celebrate.

I am reminded of a passage concerning Mary the Mother of our Lord, from the Protoevangelium of James (17:2):

Joseph and Mary drew near unto Bethlehem, within three miles: and Joseph turned himself about and saw her of a sad countenance and said within himself: "Peradventure that which is within her paineth her." And again Joseph turned himself about and saw her laughing, and said unto her: "Mary, what aileth thee that I see thy face at one time laughing and at another time sad?" And Mary said unto Joseph: "It is because I behold two peoples with mine eyes, the one weeping and lamenting and the other rejoicing and exulting."

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

On Consents: Conscience, Consequences and Canons

The consent process for the ordination and consecration of Mary Glasspool is well under way, and the score-keepers and handicappers are hard at work. As we all realize, consents to episcopal elections are not a trivial matter; but then, they never were, as a reading of the first decades of the church's history reveals. Even in those simpler times there were a number of priests elected who failed to garner the necessary consent to their episcopate.

No one would say we live in simpler times, and some of the complexity is due to conscience. In Glasspool's case, there will be people (bishops with jurisdiction and members of standing committees) whose conscience will insist she must be ordained; and there will equally be others who in conscience will cast a negative (or withhold a positive) vote on the grounds of her partnered status, or even on the grounds of her sex. (There are still those who believe that a woman not only should not, but cannot be a bishop, and their belief will inform their vote.)

Still others will be swayed by concern over consequences. The Archbishop of Canterbury himself has alluded to that reality; and certainly it is no great prognostication that consent, or failure of consent, will indeed have consequences of one sort or another.

Others yet will take the course of reading the text of what they are signing, which, at least as far as standing committees goes, attests that they "know of no impediment on account of which the Reverend A.B. ought not be ordained..." and consent on the basis of their agnosticism, or deny consent on the basis of knowing of some such impediment. (Obviously those who do not believe a woman can be a bishop would hold her sex to be such an impediment; though this is not the current teaching of the church, and thus not a canonical, but a conscientious impediment, as noted above. A canonical impediment, apart from matters of age, having filed the proper paperwork, and so on, would include having done something that would be cause for deposition if proven, under the disciplinary canons.)

Whatever happens, people are watching and keeping count. One hundred twenty days seems like a long time in our electronic age, but it may well run its full course in this case. My suspicion is that we may see some exercise of the "pocket veto" — some lukewarm bishops or standing committees simply not getting around to registering their vote, which will count as a "no" since an absolute majority is needed in both categories. So, if consent fails, they will be able to say, "We didn't vote against her," while if she is confirmed, will be able to say, "We didn't vote for her." It will be interesting to see, come early May, how many voices are silent at the deadline.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

Teachers to Ones Liking

Perhaps the strangest response to the recent Roman Catholic offer of transition and incorporation for disaffected Anglicans is this from the group Reform. They alert us at the head of their site that they very rarely issue press releases, so this is a rarity. Perhaps a second draft might have been advised, to avoid the apparent disconnect between the two final paragraphs (emphasis mine):

“If priests really are out of sympathy with the C of E’s doctrine (as opposed to the battles we are having over women’s ministry and sexuality), then perhaps it is better they make a clean break and go to Rome. However, when they do, they will have to accommodate themselves to Rome’s top-down approach to church life, whereas the C of E has always stressed the importance of decision making at the level of the local church.”
“It is illusory to pretend that this development is an outcome of ecumenical dialogue. It illustrates the difficulties the C of E faces and the need for stronger leadership, rather than the ‘softly softly’ approach so far taken to those holding liberal views who are splitting the church.”

So, let me get this straight, or at least decently and in order: Top-down is that unpleasant Romish thing, and local discernment the English, but the problem with the C of E is that very lack of a top-down imposition of control from the leadership. Which leads me to suspect that if Rome actually enforced all that the Reform folk agreed with, they too would fly to her bosom.

Which is just another example of "I like strong leaders and tough enforcement when I agree with it" — the tautology of tyranny and the unassailable rule of private conscience writ large.

No thanks. I'll stick with subsidiarity, even when it's upside-down.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

Reading Rowan — Part the Second

I ended the first section of this reflection on the Archbishop of Canterbury with reference to Truth; and I would like to focus on that theme in his second section. I will do that by sharing with you some of what I said to the Archbishop at the meeting in Anaheim.

Being True to Oneself

I deferred a call to ordained ministry for a number of years in large part due to the “don’t ask/don’t tell” policy that was in place in the Diocese of New York. I felt I could not in good conscience function in such a regime — in part because of the value I place on openness, authenticity, and honesty in pastoral ministry — and I could not imagine ministering effectively under such circumstances. With a change in that policy by the newly elected bishop, and a change in attitude reflected in the House of Bishops itself at the 1991 General Convention, I knew that it was time to answer that call. Little did I know that I would end up serving in a congregation 90 percent of whose members are from parts of the Anglican Communion in which I would not be able to serve with such honesty. In part because I preach the gospel and treat my personal life as a fact on the ground, as I think any pastor should, allows most of the members of the congregation to do the same. They support me, and my partner of 29 years, in our ministry with them; and they treat him with respect they would any clergy spouse. The women of the parish make cakes for his birthday, and people always ask after him when he is away on business.

However, as with all ministry, this is not ultimately about me: it helps the gay and lesbian members of my parish to be themselves as well. They come from parts of the world where they could only do that literally at the risk of their lives and safety, and more importantly, might never cross the threshold of a church.

This is an important witness to the Gospel, in the ultimate rule and moral standard that Jesus gave us: to treat others as we would be treated, to love our neighbors as ourselves. And to do that, we must be ourselves, reveal ourselves. Being forced to live in the closet — or even choosing it as the easier way — is a fundamental violation of human dignity as well as an almost gnostic violation of the embodied truth of persons in their integrity and identity.

I am reminded that the motto of the Anglican Communion, in the words surrounding the Compass Rose: “The Truth Shall Make You Free.” One of the principles of Ubuntu, a concept which has occupied so much of our thinking and working at this session of General Convention, is that we cannot authentically be ourselves unless we are in relationship. My question is, How can we be in authentic relationships if we are not open and honest about ourselves from the outset? If we are all wearing masks, it is not a meeting of true self with true self, but a masquerade, a game of mask facing mask, reflected “in a glass darkly.” What would happen; what wave of opportunities for new ministry might break forth across the Anglican Communion if we were to take off our masks — all of us? What would happen if we were to be set free by truth for Truth? I am reminded of an eponymous line from CS Lewis’s great novel, “How can we truly know and love each other face-to-face, until we have faces?”

What is Truth?

That is what I said, more or less, to the Archbishop. And of course, any discussion of truth, either with or without a capital T, is bound to be dicey. Let me say, first of all, I reject relativism: that is, I think truth has to do with reality; though perceptions can and will differ, I think there is something that is perceived. I also accept that certain things I believe to be true cannot be proven but must be taken on faith — such as that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, the Savior and Redeemer of the world. I believe other truths can be demonstrated: such as that committed, life-long, monogamous same-sex relationships are not only not sinful, but capable of showing forth the grace and love of God.

While expounding the truth, or what one believes to be true, can certainly lead to division, I also believe — and this is where I differ most sharply with the Archbishop — that it is expounding the truth that leads to unity rather than being in unity leading to truth. Let me be more precise (which may also serve to lessen the gap between me and the Archbishop somewhat) — it is first of all a question of knowledge, of what we believe to be true; in short, an epistemological question. How do I know anything at all, let alone whether it is true or not? Relationship is clearly an important aspect of knowledge — I learn from others, both human others and “the other” in the form of the sensible world, as well as the ultimate Other, God, through God’s self-communication in revelation and most particularly in the person of Christ. And I refine my knowledge (that is, I learn) in communication with those others, in listening to those others, and come to know what I believe to be true in that forum and interchange and relationship. And out of this there grows a form of dynamic community. This is how truth both leads to and fosters community, truth-speaking in dialogue and listening leading to understanding, and community (as opposed to division) fostering that conversation. As Paul said to the Ephesians, “So then, putting away falsehood, let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another.” One’s truth can only be heard if there are those willing to listen. Uncertain trumpets and ears not geared to hear are equally obstacles to the task of evangelism: a task which reveals the need to speak as well as to listen, and which itself testifies to the fact that, “All have not heard,” and that the Truth must be communicated and spread. The church as a whole and in its members is, after all, “called” — it is assembled by the proclamation, and then gives rise to yet more proclamation, in the sending forth to spread the Evangelical Truth.

It seems to me that the Archbishop may be calling “unity” what I am calling relationship or community. But he appears to me to have a more limited notion of the institutional forms in which such unity might be incarnated. He wants a tighter and more regulated union as opposed to what he dismisses as a federation — and yet it seems to me that federations work very well, or at least as well as more tightly unitary entities. Benedictines and Franciscans both have a lively sense of identity and community, incarnated in very different structures. And I cannot help but note that given the Anglican Benedictine heritage, it might be good to remember the essentially autonomous nature of each abbey — living a common rule but individually governed, with only a superficial ecclesiastical structure at a higher level of management, an arch-abbot whose primary task is to check in once and a while at each abbey to see how well they are following the Rule they hold in common, but exercise as individual foundations. Sounds like the Anglican Communion to me!

My concern about “unity giving rise to truth” lies in awareness of how central control can quash the very sensibility, adaptation to local circumstance, and experimentation through which truth is often perceived, expressed, and more widely received. Monolithic entities — especially when they think they already have the truth or even are infallible — tend not to be open to correction, reform or development; they often do not listen to the corrective warnings of the child who sees the naked emperor. It is very easy for unity and unanimity to lead to self-deception; even to conspiracy and repression of the truth. Sanhedrins often are not good at accepting input, even from some of their own number.

The Elephant in the Room

Let me take up for a moment the old parable of the blind men and the elephant. In their touching and feeling they think they are engaged with different things rather than one elephantine entity: a rope, a tree, a pipe, a wall, a fan. If they remain out of communication with each other they will of course continue in this misunderstanding. But they do not need to form a “union” or “unity” in order to come to a better mind — they need communion or community: in short, to communicate with each other, and the precise form of that communication — federal, synodical, or monarchial, is irrelevant. In the world of modern networking, a distributed and open communication system may be preferred over a central administration.

Of course, they must also have some prior concept of “elephanticity,” even if it is a vague or second-hand report of heffalumps or oliphants. Thus they build not only on their individual experiences but on their own past knowledge, gained from community, of an idea of an elephant. Had they no knowledge of an elephant, who knows what strange joint vision they might construct, without any relation to the reality of which they each had only partial experience.

But, and here I may be treading over into paradox and an Anglican koan — what if it is the elephant who is blind? What if it is the elephant who has no ability to form a concept of itself? How do you tell an elephant it is an elephant? How can the elephant know the truth of its own elephant-self without the help of those blind but sensitive witnesses whose limited knowledge can only be perfected in communion, yet without which communion cannot come to be. Mustn’t the elephant construct a self-identity as a unitary entity from the evidence of the individuals reporting on its aspects? It seems to me that the Anglican Communion — indeed the whole church — is best approached as an entity that has no understanding of itself apart from the understanding of its individual members, who jointly seek understanding: truth communicated leading to unity.

To use another analogy: Consciousness itself emerges from the bicameral nature of the brain: our brain is not a unitary entity, but a consortium of independent clusters of activity, cooperating with each other to give rise to self-awareness. The church is a body with many members, contributing different faculties to the whole in organs of sense and motion.

E Pluribus Unum

It is obvious that the church does not simply spring into existence fully formed. The One is formed by the community of the Many. It grows by the addition of new members. It is, as we ourselves are, woven in secret, knit together from various components with which it is equipped, to come together and grow together in Love. Perhaps the Anglican Communion needs a refresher course in Ephesians, to understand how telling the truth can lead to unity and communion, while duplicity (the dual-minded opposite of community) can produce only an appearance of unity, the masquerade of which I spoke, a false-front facade of an edifice that is empty at its heart, a Temple forsaken by the Spirit who does not simply bestow all truth, but who leads us into it.

This is why the so-called Listening Process is so important: and it reveals, to some extent, Rowan Williams’ own trust in an emergent unity — that is, if unity were necessary for dialogue, why treat dialogue and listening as a means to encouraging unity? This gives me hope that in the actual working out of things it may be that the Archbishop is an idealist and the Vicar is a realist, but we are both dealing with the same entity under it all. That is, we are looking at the same church from two different angles; and both of us are committed to the Listening Process as a means to a better end.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

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Sacred Vows, Sacred Trust

a guest editorial

Fifty years ago, I was accepted as a postulant for Holy Orders. When I was ordained, our vows were referred to as “Sacred Vows” committing ourselves to a calling, a vocation and not just a job. The Vows were so significant that after we recited them, the service was stopped, while we went and signed a printed copy of the vows. I pasted my copy in my prayer book hymnal. I made those vows at ordination to the Diaconate and again at my ordination to the Priesthood. I was ordained by Bishops of a Diocese but for the Episcopal Church. In later years, when I was required to establish my identity by various secular authorities, I gave the page and edition number of the Episcopal Church Annual. My authority, my “license,” my legal standing as a priest, came from the Episcopal Church. When I moved to a Diocese, the first credential was to be in good standing as a Priest in the Episcopal Church.

The Episcopal Church welcomed me as a steward, not an owner, but a steward of ministry resources. When I was called to a parish, I was given the use of Church buildings and grounds; vestments, chalices and other altar appointments; organs, pianos, office equipment; funds for mission & ministry, endowments and designated funds for scholarships and outreach. I was responsible for working with the congregation to maintain all of the above and (see parable of the Talents) to enhance and grow those resources to the best of our ability. When it was time to leave, I turned all of the above over to my successor. I was told from day one, you are a steward not an owner and the Episcopal Church is trusting you with these resources because of your ordination to the priesthood and license within the Episcopal Church.

Bishops have a third set of vows. They are approved by the whole Episcopal Church before they may be ordained and consecrated to the Episcopate. The Diocese elects and the Episcopal Church, through a vote of Bishops holding jurisdiction over Dioceses and a majority of Diocesan Standing Committees, consents and affirms the election. When the consents are required within three months of General Convention, the House of Deputies of General Convention acts in the role of the Standing Committees. Once Consecrated, the Bishops receive the use of the resources of a Diocese as stewards not owners. When they leave, they are to turn it all over to the succeeding Bishop.

There have always been times when a Deacon, Priest or Bishop, as a matter of conscience, deems it impossible to continue in the Church which has empowered them. There are appropriate ways to declare such. Two Bishops I greatly respect, John Lipscomb formerly Bishop of Southwest Florida and Jeffrey Steenson of Rio Grande (New Mexico and part of West Texas) each have been received into the Roman Catholic Church. As Paul reminds us in Romans, we are to outdo one another in honor. These men took honor seriously.

Some are arguing that the property belongs to the current members of a Church or Institution. That requires forgetting the great contributions of the hundreds and thousands of Saints who have preceded them in those places. Trinity Cathedral is the mother Church of the Diocese of Pittsburgh and has served Western Pennsylvania for 25 decades. I had the privilege of being responsible for Trinity for two of those decades. Bp. Duncan was responsible for one. Does that mean I am twice as worthy to “own” the Cathedral? That is absolute nonsense.

Someone wrote that since the Episcopal Church has a polity of participatory democracy that the majority of current members has the right to property. ... I love our polity. While I am quick to point out its flaws, I have found it to be more helpful for me in ministry and mission for Jesus than other polities. But simply stated, we in Pittsburgh watched as the checks and balances of our polity were dismantled over the last eight years or so. At the end, we were not even permitted to have a roll call vote at Convention. I did not speak at our Convention to the issues of controversy during my six years as President of the House of Deputies, since I would have to preside over them. In November of 2006, in the two minutes I was allotted (and then only if you were near enough to the front of the line to be called on before debate was ended) I decried the fact that as someone who had served the mother parish of the Diocese for more than twenty years; as someone who had an unusual, if not unique, view of the entire Episcopal Church, that I was allowed only 120 seconds to speak to the most difficult and complex question the Diocese of Pittsburgh had faced since its founding following the war between the states.

I do not question the sincerity or commitment to Jesus of those with whom I may disagree. Like the late Bp. Herb Thomson said to the wardens and rector of a parish which chose to leave the Episcopal Church, “How may we help you board another ship in the fleet of Christ?” For fifty years, I have never once considered claiming ownership of property and resources entrusted to me and my colleagues. I was surprised, even shocked, when a Pittsburgh priest started talking about this twenty or more years ago. I think, like Bp. Thompson, we may work to find ways to make this painful period gracious and to give the Body of Christ in our areas the best opportunities to do ministry in Christ’s name. I still believe my vows are sacred. I still thank God for the sacred trust given me by the Episcopal Church. How blessed I have been.

George Werner
31st President of the House of Deputies.

posted with his permission, and my thanks, by Tobias Haller BSG

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09. Scripture (2): Perplexity and Guidance

The Argument

In spite of claims and calls to order our life in accord with the Bible, no one on earth actually does so — at least not completely. Scripture contains contradictions, or at the very least tensions, between various commandments; there are corrections, revisions, expansions, and terminations; there are commandments no one can follow because of changes in circumstance and history; there are commandments few would defend in our day, or fallen to disuse, which were norms in former times. In short, all people pick and choose which commandments they accord authoritative status, either for themselves or others.

Many criteria are offered for the choices made, but the criteria can be as arbitrary or perplexing as the laws and customs to which they are supposed to give order. My purpose in this essay is to explore some of these criteria and put them into some order, in particular an order drawn from the sacred text itself rather than imposed upon it.

The dilemma

Scripture says a great many things about a great many topics. But what it meant to those who first recorded it and what it means for us is of great importance, if we are to be serious in our claim to see in Scripture not only the revelation of historical faith, but a present guide to holy living. There are subjects about which Scripture says little or nothing explicit, which we feel to be very important (abortion, for example); there are topics about which it says a good deal but about which we are scarcely concerned today (the consumption of meat that has not been completely purged of blood.) Acts which Scripture forbids or demands with lapidary clarity are commonly committed or neglected today with scant hint of impropriety. There is at work some less than clearly defined process by which Scripture is put to use in framing a way to live what the believer holds to be a “biblical” life, in spite of these inconsistencies in practice.

This exposes one of the weaknesses of a so-called Divine Command ethic (one species of deontological ethics). This is particularly problematical for those who wish to see Scripture and its commands to be the Word of God in a literal and particular sense, for it immediately becomes a question of which divine commands will be obeyed. For no one “lives by the Scripture” in all its detailed instructions, even if one might attempt to live according to the general principles embodied in those details. This was revealed recently by A.J. Jacobs, in his clearly titled The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible. He found, for example, that there are any number of biblical commandments with which compliance was virtually if not actually impossible. As he noted in a recent radio interview, the closest he could come to carrying out the mandate to hold slaves was to have an intern! Thus something the text said in ancient times and circumstances to others had to be adapted in order to be fulfilled by Jacobs now.

The effective impossibility of attaining perfection in or by following the Law was a primary issue for Saint Paul in his Letter to the Romans. (Those who use the first chapter of Romans as a proof text have underestimated the significance of this aspect of Paul’s argument.) Still, Scripture as a whole serves as a resource to the church, which, in making use of that resource, accords certain portions a higher and more authoritative status on the basis of their coherence with the needs of those to whom the text has been delivered, as it were, second hand — since none of us is the recipient of direct revelation, but only the inherited revelation committed to the church.

And that revelation, fixed as it is in a written text, itself a rich collection of various documents composed at different times, to different ends, by different people and for different hearers, will have to be engaged by the faithful of the church in each generation, who will find themselves facing the task of receiving the revelation, and resolving the contradictions and tensions manifest in the Scripture itself.

Wait... Contradictions? ... in Scripture?

Many, particularly the more conservative among us, would like to believe there are no contradictions or tensions in Scripture. After all, if it is the Word of God, how could God contradict himself?

The truth of the matter is that even such as are most ready to deplore making “one sentence of Scripture repugnant to another” will do exactly that when faced with a dilemma. For example, Cranmer and his company found it convenient, under significant monarchial pressure, to hold that the mandate of Deuteronomy 25:5 (that when a man’s brother dies childless he is to take the widow as his wife — something the monarch had done with the express permission of the pope) was to be overturned in favor of the prohibition in Leviticus 18:16 (in accord with the monarch’s troubled conscience and the failure of his brother’s widow to produce a male heir.)

One can indulge in Anglican Fudge as much as one likes — and Cranmer and Company may be credited with the first recipe for this rich, chewy ambiguity. But there is no use pretending that these texts are not in tension with one another, that they were at pains to resolve the tension, and that other solutions would have been possible (i.e., taking the Levirate law as a specific exception to the general rule on incest, eminently applicable in this monarch’s case, as the pope had agreed, since inheritance was at issue — but, of course, that isn’t the finding the monarch wanted; and as Upton Sinclair observed, “It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on his not understanding it.”)

Our task is to make decisions on how we are to address these tensions, in order to make proper choices about how to live; one hopes, free from pressure from political considerations — lest, like the deer in the proverbial headlights we never reach the cooling springs of grace but end up on the grill and windshield of judgment. It is up to us — as the church — to use the tools at our disposal to find our way to discern the applicability of the many commandments with which Scripture presents us.

The basic tool: Reason

In this interaction with the church, through the Holy Spirit, the Scripture comes alive in every generation. Every society and culture (and church) that embraces the Scripture thus also exercises a form of selective critique of that Scripture, even while seeking to a greater or lesser degree to conform to the view of Scripture thus organized and understood.

Richard Hooker attested that the Scripture is neither self-authenticating nor self-interpreting: it must be approached through and by means of Reason — which is more than deductive reason (though it includes it) and involves notions we would understand as “common sense” or “rationality.”

Unto the word of God... we do not add reason as a supplement of any maim or defect therein, but as a necessary instrument, without which we could not reap by the Scripture’s perfection that fruit and benefit which it yieldeth... If knowledge were possible without discourse of natural reason, why should none be found capable thereof but only men; nor men till such time as they come unto ripe and full ability to work by reasonable understanding? Laws III.8.10f

Hooker also recognized both the misapplication of proof texts (which are often mis-translated or removed from the textual and contextual position that might help a more accurate understanding)and the sweeping generalizations which make Scripture appear to say more than it does. Such claims do no credit either to the claimants or to Scripture. As Hooker noted,

...As incredible praises given unto men do often abate and impair the credit of their deserved commendation, so we must likewise take great heed, lest in attributing unto Scripture more than it can have, the incredibility of that do cause even those things which indeed it hath most abundantly to be less reverently esteemed. II.8

So a sifting process is at work, by which any given culture or society or person, even while embracing the Bible as a whole, also separates out portions of it based on various modes of division and distinction. This process can be conscious and reasonable, but it can also happen under the influence of culture or external events.

The “Classical” Anglican Distinction

The traditional Anglican distinction between moral, civil, and ceremonial laws, while having the virtue of a logical reading (as some of the commandments are clearly related to ceremony, and others clearly to morals, and still others to civil matters) does not bear close examination if one is to take the next Anglican step and say that Christians are not bound to follow the civil and ceremonial laws, but only the moral ones. For, while Jesus and the Apostolic Church, as recorded in Scripture, did specifically set aside certain ceremonial and civil laws, and the course of history made certain of the Hebrew laws incapable of enforcement or compliance (the destruction of the Temple rendering all of the laws pertaining to Temple worship beyond compliance), the Hebrew Law itself does not distinguish between these various sorts of commandments on this basis; all commandments alike are to be obeyed; there is no suggestion that some are “moral” and others “merely” ceremonial.

So the “classical Anglican” distinction, in this case, does not well serve — in particular because some of the very matters under discussion in our present debates arguably involve ritual, civil and ceremonial dimensions as much as they do moral ones.

For example, even though Hooker explicitly refers to the Decalogue as “the moral law” I very much doubt a contemporary moralist would see idolatry as a moral issue; I would imagine that even in the height of the missionary efforts of the nineteenth century, few would have held that Hindus were immoral on the basis of their iconography, even if held to be mistaken in their beliefs. Idolatry, to our minds, is not a moral issue but a doctrinal one. This distinction obviously cannot be made within the context of the Decalogue, the Prophets, or Romans 1: idolatry is, in fact, the root of all immorality! Similarly, if we take a few steps more into the Decalogue: few would consider sabbath-breaking a major moral issue today, though they may well have done so in the nineteenth century, in spite of the fact that, in one sense, Christians have been deliberate sabbath-breakers from the day it was decided to observe the Lord’s Day rather than the Sabbath. For Hooker it was, of course, still a moral issue:

The moral law requiring therefore a seventh part throughout the age of the whole world to be that way employed, although with us the day be changed in regard of a new revolution begun by our Saviour Christ, yet the same proportion of time continueth which was before, because in reference to the benefit of creation and now much more of renovation thereunto added by him which was Prince of the world to come, we are bound to account the sanctification of one day in seven a duty which God’s immutable law doth exact for ever. (V.70.9)

Need I add that in the Jewish law, treating the sabbath as any other day was a capital offense, and merely doing work on it entailed excision from the holy people (Exodus 31:14); the text is abundantly clear, yet few would consider violation of either Saturday or Sunday to be serious moral failings in our time. In short, this distinction between moral and non-moral appears not to be a very profitable avenue, if we are to attempt to deal with the text itself, rather than the suppositions about, “What is really moral?” — which, depending on the answer, tends to beg the question — it is a moral question because I think it so to be.

A better way

There are — in the text itself — various distinctions between and among the various laws, and I would like to begin by highlighting some of these divisions, and suggest that these categories are actually useful in determining the character and applicability of the texts commonly raised in the present discussion.

Some might accuse me of a “deconstructionist” approach in this — by which they mean something like “breaking it down to undermine its authority.” On the contrary, I am proposing a careful and objective analysis (in examination of the various parts) in order to come to a better and more accurate understanding of the whole Scripture and of its authoritative claim upon us, and to explore reasonable grounds upon which we might justifiably say of a portion of Scripture, “This no longer applies,” or “This applies only to certain circumstances.”

Law and Narrative

The first distinction is between matters expressed as laws, as opposed to principles derived from historical or prophetic passages. Hooker addressed this distinction in the debates of his time:

I wish they did well observe, with whom nothing is more familiar than to plead in these causes, “the law of God,” “the word of the Lord;” who notwithstanding when they come to allege what word and what law they mean, their common ordinary practice is to quote by-speeches in some historical narration or other, and to urge them as if they were written in most precise exact form of law... When that which the word of God doth but deliver historically, we construe without any warrant as if it were legally meant, and so urge it further than we can prove that it was intended; do we not add to the laws of God, and make them in number seem more than they are? III.5

Thus there is a clear distinction between, for example, the explicit and narrow legal restriction on male same-sexuality in Leviticus 18/20, as opposed to the narrative in Genesis 19. The former is expressed in an “exact form of law” including an explicit penalty; but the latter is a page out of history, recounting something no doubt to be condemned (whether rape or murder). So while the former remains a matter for legal discernment, the latter is irrelevant to our concerns, as no one is suggesting that rape or murder are under discussion.

Who is this that speaks?

A second factor in determining the relevance of a commandment lies in the source of the commandment: is it reported to come from the hand of God, from Moses, from Jesus, or from Paul, for example. Hooker was also well aware of this distinction, and used it to contrast the Ten Commandments with the rest of the Law. (In this passage Hooker also catalogues some of the other distinctions which I will address below.)

The positive laws which Moses gave, they were given for the greatest part with restraint to the land of Jewry... Which laws he plainly distinguished afterward from the laws of the Two Tables which were moral... Of the Ten Commandments, it followeth immediately, “These words the Lord spake unto all your multitude in the mount...” (Deut 5.22) But concerning other laws, the people give their consent to receive them at the hands of Moses (Deut 5.27)... From this latter kind the former are distinguished in many things. They were not both at one time delivered, neither both of one sort, nor to one end. The former uttered by the voice of God..., written with the finger of God,... termed by the name of Covenant,... given to be kept without either mention of time how long, or place where. On the other side, the latter given after, and neither given by God himself, nor given unto the whole multitude immediately from God, but unto Moses...; the latter termed Ceremonies, Judgments, Ordinances, but no where Covenants; finally, the observation of the latter restrained unto the land where God would establish them to inhabit. III.11.6

Jesus also made a distinction between commandments of God and those delivered by Moses, suggesting that the latter may not have been entirely in keeping with God’s will, when he set aside the Mosaic allowance for divorce (Deut 24:1) in favor of what he regarded as the divine order towards indissoluble marriage.

The legal code of Deuteronomy is book-ended with citations that indicate its contents derive from God: These are the statutes and ordinances that you must diligently observe in the land that the LORD, the God of your ancestors, has given you to occupy all the days that you live on the earth... Moses and the elders of Israel charged all the people as follows: Keep the entire commandment that I am commanding you today. (Deuteronomy 12:1; 27:1) The same sort of general description applies in Leviticus, which often takes of the refrain of the need to keep all of the statutes and ordinances delivered by Moses. (Lev 20:22, 25:18)

Yet Jesus clearly distinguished between these collections of Law and the commandments of the Decalogue: when the young man asked him how he might inherit eternal life, Jesus cited only Decalogue commandments. (Mark 10:19, Luke 18:20 — though in Matthew’s version at 19:19 he added the Law on love of neighbor from Leviticus 19:18).

I by no means wish to suggest that because Jesus emphasized the Decalogue over the other laws, and set aside a number of the latter laws explicitly (more on this below) that all of these laws are no longer to be observed. I am merely observing here that this places these laws in a category in which we are able to review them for their applicability, in keeping with the general principle which Jesus affirmed as his own touchstone for moral action: loving one’s neighbor as oneself. This is the explicit conclusion reached in Jesus’ discussion with the lawyers concerning what is most important in the Law. (Luke 10:27-28; Mark 12:33-34)

In this case, we would examine the law from Leviticus 18:22 (clearly given by Moses and not part of the Decalogue) in connection with the possibility that one could “love one’s neighbor as oneself” even if violating this law. It seems evident that this is a possibility.

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Tobias Haller BSG

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The next section of this series will continue to explore some of the various ways in which different portions of Scripture call for different readings.

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UPDATE: This will be the last post in the series, as Church Publishing Incorporated has offered to publish these essays, revised and expanded, in a new book called Reasonable and Holy, due out early in 2009.

Further Update: This post and the preceding, expanded and supplemented with much additional material, including three entirely new chapters, form part of Reasonable and Holy, published by Seabury Books and available on order from Church Publishing Incorporated.

Good Housekeeping

from a sermon for Proper 6c • Tobias Haller BSG
Keep, O Lord, your household the Church in your steadfast faith and love, that through your grace we may proclaim your truth with boldness, and minister your justice with compassion.

. . . . . . .

We see an even more eloquent example of this in the Gospel reading. The stage is set for a drama of contrasts: Simon the Pharisee, no doubt intrigued by what he has heard of Jesus, invites him into his home to dine with him. And a woman from the city, a sinner — and I don’t think I have to tell you what kind of a sinner she is — comes in and makes an incredible display of herself at Jesus’s feet. You may remember I’ve explained before that the reason she can stand behind him at his feet and wash his feet with her hair is due to Jesus lying on a couch at the meal, in the Roman style of that time. Had they been sitting at a dining table she would have to have been a contortionist!

Now, contortion or not, it takes no imagination to picture the look of indignation on Simon the Pharisee’s face. Pharisees, remember, are the people who are very fussy about observing the law — about not touching anything unclean, about washing your hands before eating, and making sure all the vessels are ritually pure. They are the Hyacinth Buckets — it’s Bouquet — of first-century Judaism. These are people who are trying to do the very thing Saint Paul told Saint Peter no one could do: follow the law in all its details down to the last jot and tittle, including how to fold your napkin after you’ve wiped your hands.

But Jesus, the ever-compassionate Jesus, doesn’t turn on the Pharisee and read him the riot act — which, as we know from other confrontations with Pharisees, he was perfectly capable of doing! Rather in this case he takes Nathan’s approach, and by telling a story that seems to be completely unrelated to the present situation, he gets Simon the Pharisee to convict himself. As a good teacher, he doesn’t spell out the answer to this moral dilemma; but provides the learner with the tools needed to understand it himself. He constructs a play within a play (or a story within the story) to catch the conscience of the Pharisee.

+ + +

We continue to pray that God will keep our household the church in his steadfast faith and love, so that we can proclaim God’s truth with boldness, and minister God’s justice with compassion. We pray this, but we often seem to lose the will to follow through on the harder work of helping people to help themselves in the moral dilemmas in which they find themselves — like Nathan and Jesus in our readings today. Too often in the church we hear voices raised that sound more like Paul or Simon than like Nathan or Jesus: quick to judge and condemn what they see as faithlessness, zealous and bold for the truth, and eager to see God’s justice carried out — but lacking in the love and compassion that would make their mission not only more effective, but more Christlike.

In doing this, as Saint Paul had the wisdom to realize about himself, they become noisy gongs or clanging cymbals: perhaps effective warning alarms to alert people to the very real moral danger in which they may find themselves; but ultimately less effective in actually saving people from themselves. Without love, without compassion, faith and justice lose half of their effectiveness.

Without love and compassion, the justice of the Pharisee would send that woman back out into the streets, to a life of sin and despair. Christ, in his love and compassion, allows this fallen woman not only to be with him where he is, but to minister to him, saved by her faith in response to his love and compassion.

Shall the church play the role of Paul at his most intolerant, or Simon the Pharisee at his most judgmental? Or shall we take the course of Nathan and of Christ and proclaim the truth in ways that those wounded by sin and despair can hear and be healed? Shall the church require its ministers to imagine themselves pure and free from sin by their own virtuous manner of life, by following the works of the law? Or shall it celebrate the ministry of those who do not sit in judgment but who, knowing their own weakness, lovingly and generously serve the body of Christ?

The woman of the city was no longer worried about her sins, which indeed were many, for she had turned to Christ. Nor does the gospel mention repentance — unusual for Luke who mentions it so often! Rather her tears reveal faith, hope, and love, flowing from the knowledge of forgiveness. We see in this incident the essence of the virtues incarnate in a woman thought by the Pharisee to be incapable of goodness, a woman who plays out the sacrament of baptism: with her voiceless confession of faith, the washing of her tears, anointing her Lord with fragrant ointment, sealed with the kiss of peace — and is then sent out in that peace to love and serve her Lord in the world.

Our Gospel today presents us two models for our encounter with Christ, and for Christian ministry. Here are two models for service to the body of Christ which is the church — the household of God. All who serve the Lord are sinners, yet all who serve the Lord are forgiven. Some will prefer to spend their time worrying about other people’s sins and whether the church can tolerate them. They will seek to obstruct their service, thinking all the while that they protect God’s body from the touch of unclean hands, and are simply being good housekeepers — like Hyacinth Bucket making people take off their shoes before entering her spotless house — if she lets them enter at all. Others will get on with the hopeful works of faith and love, of justice and compassion — the kind of good housekeeping that accepts the fact that there will be some cleaning up to do from time to time, because so many people have been made welcome in the house. Is there any question at all which of these Christ would rather have us do? +

Read it all.

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All about the polity

Recently a number of folks have tsk-tsk’d the appeals to polity made by the House of Bishops, in confessing their inability completely to comply with the requests of the Dar es Salaam Primates’ Communiqué. Surely, they seem to say, preservation of the communion is more important than polity.

First of all, what is the communion apart from polity? Not a few on the conservative side of the spectrum already refuse to recognize our communio in sacris, the unity we share in Christ and celebrate in the Eucharist. And others are proposing a new political structure in the form of a Covenant — which is nothing less than a form of polity for the Anglican Communion.

Secondly, polity is important; it is the law of the church. The matters before us touch upon some significant features directly addressed by that law. Bishops are not only pledged to preserve the unity of the church, but to abide by its discipline, and that discipline is embodied in these laws.

What bishops can and cannot do

The House of Bishops, acting alone, can pass a “mind of the house” resolution by which the House agrees “it” will not consent to the election of any bishop who might be offensive to the wider communion; or not authorize any novel liturgies in their dioceses.

What the House of Bishops, acting alone, cannot do, is make such actions binding upon all the individual bishops with jurisdiction, since the right and responsibility to grant or withhold consent, or to authorize liturgies, is a canonical right or responsibility belonging to each of them individually. (Article II.2, Canon III.11; Article X)

This is all tied up with the legal principle “What touches all shall be consented to by all” — and “all” means “all” — that is, a decision abrogating the legal rights and responsibilities of a member of an assembly can only be made either by a change in the law that grants or requires those rights or responsibilities (which the House of Bishops acting alone is not competent to do, since a change in the law of the Church requires concurrent action by the House of Deputies) or by unanimous consent (of which they are competent, but which is unlikely). And even unanimous consent does not have legal force in terms of compliance. This is part of the ABC of the laws governing assemblies.

At the same time...

As I have observed in the past, if enough of the bishops with jurisdiction voluntarily withhold consent to an election, then consent will fail. The same applies to diocesan authorization of liturgies: bishops can agree among themselves not to authorize novel rites.

Practically speaking, if such “mind of the house” resolutions were to be passed at the next session of the House of Bishops (with the understanding that under our canon law individual bishops will, and must, remain free to exercise their consciences on how they deal with the matters in their own dioceses) it would very likely be enough to satisfy the more irenic among the Primates, including the Archbishop of Canterbury.

In doing this the bishops will in fact be doing as much as they can do, under the law of the church, which they are sworn to uphold.

But should they take such a course, which will be seen by many as inadequate, others as cynical, and some as hypocritical? It is abundantly clear that nothing short of a complete and iron-clad reversal will please the more irate among the Primates. The CAPA-commissioned “Road to Lambeth” (September 2006) went far beyond the requests of the Windsor Report and called for “the resignation or removal from office of Gene Robinson and the passage of legislation which would bar any similar ordinations of priests and consecrations of bishops.”

There was an opportunity for at least the latter to happen at General Convention 2006. It didn’t. And it is not going to happen; not in September (where it cannot) nor at the next General Convention (where it will not). A number of Rubicons (perhaps one should say Potomacs) have already been crossed, and any number of dies cast. And although Bishop Robinson has not been invited to Lambeth as a participant, it has been mooted that he might be allowed to attend as a guest — surely a compromise that leans well towards the liberal cause rather than against it; especially considering the demands from the “Global South” that no Bishop who either consented to or participated in the consecration of Bishop Robinson be allowed to attend. Archbishops Akinola and Orombi are on record as standing by “The Road to Lambeth.”

At the other extreme, some liberals have suggested that the bishops stand in solidarity with Bishop Robinson, and refuse to attend. Although I understand the impulse and resonate with it, it seems to me that doing so would be to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory — although taking this position does have its advantage in the delicate game of brinksmanship.

But it seems to me that now is not the time to issue ultimatums as resounding echoes to the trumpets from the “Global South.” It seems to me that wisdom and shrewd thinking are called for here, and a bit of common sense; and above all to trust that the Episcopal Church is, after all, right in its actions. The wind from the South has largely spent itself — though a bit of tacking will still be necessary as we chart our course for the coming years.

I will, in suggesting this, no doubt be accused of being too political. But then, it’s all about the polity.

Tobias Haller BSG

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The Ducking Stool

The deadline has passed and as of this moment the count stands one lone vote short of consent to the election of the Rev. Mark Lawrence as Bishop of South Carolina. The post may bring in another vote, but it seems bad form for a consenting standing committee not to have given notice by some other means.

It is no secret that I had reservations about Fr. Lawrence, based solely on his ambiguous responses to questions posed by the diocesan search committee, concerning his willingness to remain in the Episcopal Church, and the possibilities of an alternative primate. Perhaps if these leading questions had not been asked, Fr. Lawrence would not have been put in the predicament of having to give an honest answer and express his mixed feelings about the future, and his attitudes towards these possibilities. In its own peculiar way this mirrors the dilemma many gay and lesbian persons have faced in parts of our church, where honesty functions as a bar to acceptance for ordination. Litmus paper, given the right solution, can turn blue as easily as pink.

The sad thing for me in all this is that while I disagree with Mark’s views on a number of matters, I believe him to be an honorable man, an honest man; and he is paying — if it is “paying” not to be confirmed as a bishop — for that honesty. I think he meant what he said at every step of the journey. When he most recently (and perhaps too late) wrote, “So to put it as clearly as I can, my intention is to remain in The Episcopal Church,” I think he was putting it as clearly as he could; that is, he could not in good conscience say simply, “I will not leave the Episcopal Church.” Rather than a prediction, he offered an intention; perhaps not the most fervent assertion of fidelity, but enough of one to persuade at least some of the standing committees to accept this as sufficient.

So I admire his honesty, as I admired his integrity, even as it appears it may cost him the episcopate — at least the legitimately conferred episcopate of this Church. If he is a man of honor, as I think he is, he will forgo any irregular attempt to seize the episcopal throne — resisting what some have suggested he or the diocese should do.

In this sense, the consent process seems to be a kind of trial by ordeal. If the consents indeed are not given, and nothing untoward happens as a result — he returns to parish ministry in San Joaquin, no irregular trans-provincial consecration takes place, no incursions from abroad, nothing in South Carolina other than an orderly return to the process of finding a bishop for a diocese — then it will be evident that Mark Lawrence was a man of his word, and the diocese willing to abide by the laws of this Church. On the other hand, if an irregular consecration happens, it will rather prove the contrary.

This all reminded me this morning of the ducking stool: to convict a witch, try to drown her; if she survives, she’s a witch; if she dies — well, she was innocent. Sorry about that.

What a strange world we live in that the possibility of diocesan secession and alternative primates even need to be discussed, must less treated as real possibilities. It is these possibilities that may have scuttled what might have been a superb episcopal ministry — for there is no doubt in my mind that Mark Lawrence would make a very effective bishop. Perhaps South Carolina will be willing to covenant itself to the rest of The Episcopal Church, to reaffirm its membership in that body, governed by a General Convention few agree with on everything, but willing to abide by a common set of canons; not to ask leading questions about the future, but affirm a commitment in the present; to welcome and acknowledge our Presiding Bishop, as such, even if the diocese doesn’t agree with everything she says or stands for — much as one acknowledges the President even when one belongs to the opposing party. Were this to happen, I think there would be a greater willingness to consent to whomever the diocese elected — including Mark Lawrence should he be elected once again.

— Tobias Haller BSG

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Ever Blessing, Ever Blessed

In my “Immodest Proposal” I sketched out the following concerning the blessing of same-sex couples:

4.0. The church teaches that the nuptial ministers are the couple themselves, whose vows are blessed, not constituted, by the church. One of the earliest western marriage liturgies, in the sixth century Gallic tradition, consisted of a blessing of the couple in their home. I therefore suggest that:
4.1. Until a wider consensus is achieved on the rightness of blessing same-sex relationships in an ecclesiastical setting, The Episcopal Church not proceed with the development of a liturgical rite, or its authorization.
4.2. Recognizing that priests are ordained to pronounce God’s blessing, and that no further authorization is needed for a priest to bless than there is to preach; and that the liturgy “The Celebration of a Home” in The Book of Occasional Services is authorized for use in this church, without further permission from the Bishop being necessary; and that this liturgy provides for the blessing of the residents of the household; that it be recognized that the use of such liturgy is within the ambit of pastoral care.
4.3. The the church include in its studies and discussion the issue of the role of the church in those civil jurisdictions in which same-sex relationships are licensed, and the larger issue of the interaction between civil and ecclesiastical law in this area.

I would like now to expand on this sketch somewhat. In another post, I noted the apparent confusion over exactly what is being asked of the Episcopal Church. The latest Communiqué from the Primates, in its recommendations, appears to ask for an end to any episcopal authorization (either individually or through General Convention) of any rites for blessing same-sex relationships. However, both our Primate and the Archbishop of Canterbury appear to think that this refers to “authorization of public rites”; and there is some continued discussion concerning the weight of and meaning of authorization. Archbishop Venables thinks otherwise, and no doubt other Primates may weigh in on the hermeneutics of primatial documents, with all of the usual pitfalls of “original intent” weighed against the “literal reading.”

My approach, rather than reacting to the ambiguous (or clear) requests of the Primates, is to adopt a stronger proactive position in response: to say, we in TEC have made certain decisions, and we choose to stand by them. We will neither back down from them, nor will we, in the interest of continued dialogue, and as an indication of our willingness to remain in that dialogue, advance further than we have at this time.

I think it important to acknowledge where that is. No rites for same-sex blessing have been authorized by the General Convention, which has merely acknowledged the existence of such rites — some of them apparently given explicit authorization by individual bishops for use in their own dioceses in keeping with their Constitutional authority, others perhaps “allowed” without explicit authorization; some perhaps taking place without the knowledge of the bishop, and in some places perhaps even contrary to the express wishes of the bishop. Only in the latter case would I dare to suggest a violation of our polity.

How does my recommendation to use the liturgy “A Celebration for a Home” fit into this picture? As the outline form indicated, the answer involves the nature of a “home,” the meaning of public and private in our tradition, the power to authorize and to celebrate liturgies, and the nature of pastoral care.

A house is not a home

Whatever else one may say about marriage, there is more to it than mere cohabitation. Indeed, cohabitation without benefit of marriage is regarded by some as as serious a violation of traditional sexual morality as same-sex couples living together with some form of blessing.

This is in itself paradoxical, and points to a source of tension in the traditional view, according towhich a mixed-sex couple can transform a sinful relationship (cohabitation) into a virtuous one by exchanging vows always to remain in that relationship. A same-sex couple cannot do so under the traditional understanding; rather, to swear to remain faithful in the relationship might be seen as making it all the worse — a willing persistence in sin. Same-sex relationships, according to the tradition, are inherently unblessable, and incapable of “redemption” by any other means than termination.

Even among those who embrace the tradition, however, some (such as the Rev. Fleming Rutledge) have been willing to acknowledge that the matter need not be quite so cut and dried: that there is some moral value, however imperfect and short of the ideal, in encouraging stable relationships for same-sex couples, as a “remedy to fornication” and an alternative to promiscuity for those not gifted with the charism of celibacy.

However that may be, in the long run, it is not mere cohabitation — sharing a domicile — that forms the moral basis of marriage. Just as there is more to marriage than sex, there is more to a home than a house. People remain bound by their marriage vows even when separated for an extended period — and it is the vows that have formed the core of the church’s understanding of marriage (variously balanced by notions of contract and consummation) since the Middle Ages.

Yet at the same time, the concept of the home forms an central part of the marriage tradition in most human cultures, including those that gave us the present Christian understanding of marriage. As I noted in my outline, one of the oldest surviving marriage liturgies consists of the blessing of the couple in their home, rather than in the church. And aside from the practical matter of couples moving in together, we still see survivals of symbolic acts such as bearing the bride over the threshold forming a part of the cultural reality of what it means to create a new home. Moreover, our English word husband lays a certain responsibility on the groom as well — for he is a man who has a household. And it is helpful perhaps to note that the Latin American word for “married” is casado. It is in unauthorized, but very human, form of language, ritual and intention that we see the transformation of a mere house into a home. It could be argued that the home is a more fitting place for this celebration and transformation than the church. After all, Jesus assures us that in the life of the resurrection there is no marriage; so perhaps allowing its symbolic value to flourish in the home might make it possible to emphasize the eucharist as the proper “churchly” symbol of the kingdom of heaven, which is after all a marriage feast rather than a marriage itself.

I acknowledge that neither the Episcopal Church nor the Anglican Communion — nor the vast bulk of the world’s civil society — is at the point of accepting a liturgy — or a civil ceremony — for “same-sex marriage.” So I suggest that even though modern communication has speeded the rate at which such things might develop, we could well follow the cautious course of the early church in its slow (six to ten century-long!) accommodation of mixed-sex marriage as its own, and follow the early stages of that course in acknowledging that same-sex couples have the right to live not only in a house, but in a home — and more than that, to recognize that they do so, and that the signs of grace and charity this manner of life reveal show it not only to be capable of receiving, but of being a blessing.

Public and private

Some of the debate concerning such blessings has revolved around the words public and private. It is important to acknowledge several things. First, private does notmean“clandestine.” Second, public does not necessarily mean “celebrated at the 11 am liturgy on Sunday morning.” To a certain extent, all marriages not held as part of a regular church worship service — and I imagine that includes the overwhelming majority except in places that serve as wedding chapels — are by definition “private” — that is how they are listed in the Register of Parish Services. Lest I rely solely on such a tome as a source for argument, let me turn to one recently given prominence in the Draft Covenant for the Anglican Communion: the 1662 Book of Common Prayer.

In that book, two forms for Baptism are provided, with an acknowledged preference for “Publick Baptism of Infants” to be performed before the congregation, but with the recognition that for pastoral reasons, including emergencies, “Private Baptism of Children in Houses” is available. The point is that “private” does not indicate “clandestine” — indeed, the liturgy provides an extended addendum for the public proclamation of the private act.

Which raises an interesting point concerning publicity in general, and the church’s role in it. One of the primary reasons for moving marriage from home to church through the Middle Ages was publicity, a desire to stamp out “hidden” marriages, and ensure that folk knew who was married and who wasn’t. This had little or nothing to do with any theology of marriage other than the avoidance of bigamy. Rather, the church came, through that era, to play an increasing role as the public recorder of events. In a time without mass communication, and even limited literacy, it was important that all such matters be “published” in some open and recognizable form. Hence the evolution of such appurtenances as the reading of banns — all designed not to make the marriage, but to make the marriage known.

There is, however, another important function to the public celebration of essentially private (or personal) acts — that is, liturgies which involve a ministration not to the whole congregation, but only to certain members of it. This function is true of baptism as well as of marriage: and it is the exemplary role played by the newly baptized or the newly married — whose vows serve to enkindle a recollection of the vows the other members of the congregation have made; that all the baptized take renewed strength from witnessing baptism, and all married couples renew their awareness of the vows they have themselves made when they witness a marriage.

There are congregations ready, willing and able to embrace the public celebration of same-sex relationships. Many others would be willing to celebrate with a couple “after the fact.” Some few may find themselves unwilling to acknowledge the blessing of couples in their midst, or in their presence. Rather than forcing the matter further than it has gone at present, I counsel a willing engagement with the status quo, rather than a step back to the status quo ante that the Primates seem to envision. Let the process of reception have an opportunity to work, as it must, through the patient engagement of local communities with what is, after all, the most personal, private, and local of all liturgical rites, involving at a minimum only the two who give themselves to each other.

By what authority do you do such things

It is within the competence of Bishops of this church to authorize special forms of liturgical worship not found in the Book of Common Prayer. They cannot demand the use of such liturgies, as I read this Constitutional permission. However, the liturgy for “The Celebration of a Home” has already been approved for use in this church by the General Convention. I do not think a Bishop can forbid the use of the liturgies contained in the Book of Occasional Services; there is certainly no need further to approve them. While the rite in question contains only a minimal blessing of the couple, it is at a climactic point in the liturgy. There is nothing to prevent a couple exchanging vows at some point in the ceremonial blessing of the home — as the vows are made to each other and to God — and it is the vows that make the marriage. No earthly authority is needed to swear to another person that you will love them, support them, rejoice with them and suffer with them for as long as you live. Love, as Saint Paul said, fufills the law; and I can think of no other liturgy that so fulfills the commandment, “Do unto others as you would be done by” than such an exchange of vows — perfectly balanced, and perfectly complementary regardless of the gender of the couple.

But dare a priest bless such an engagement to remain lovingly faithful and faithfully loving? Priests are ordained to bless, to pronounce God’s blessing; it is part of the charism; it is part of what we do, like preaching and teaching. There is no requirement that we report to our bishops every blessing of a home that we perform, any more than we send our bishops copies of our sermons for approval. Certainly priests have the right to withhold a blessing — the canons explicitly give priests the right to decline to marry any couple; so no one is forced to injure their conscience in this matter; rather those who wish to bless may bless, and those who choose not to can refrain.

Now, as I alluded to above, I am not so foolish as to think that we have reached the point at which same-sex relationships are on a parity with marriage in this church or this nation. I believe the wind has shifted over the last decades, and the day will dawn when both church and state will come to this recognition — that it is the human qualities of fidelity and love, rather than the merely animal reality of sex, that constitutes the proper locus of the marriage vow. In the meantime, the Episcopal Church has come thus far, and I see no reason to step back or to stand down. What we have done is really rather modest and should not seem so threatening. Some in this church, or some in the rest of the communion may not be able to abide the pastoral provision we have made for some of our members. It is they who will have to decide if they can abide in the same church, or the same communion, with those who can and do.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

Trouble in Tanzania

Word has come from the Church of Tanzania that communion is “severely impaired” with the Episcopal Church, and there will be no further dealings with anyone who is “homosexual” or who has approved of just about anything having to do with “homosexuality.” In addition to the condemnation and the declaration of impaired communion, the Church of Tanzania joins the Church of Uganda in stating that it will no longer accept financial or material support from The Episcopal Church or its tainted coffers.

Frankly, I don’t know what theological justification there can be for refusing financial help from those deemed unclean. Certainly Israel was instructed to take as much as they could from the Egyptians when they set off on their Exodus (3:22). And I don’t recall the pericope about the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:35) ending,

And when the man recovered from his wounds, and hearing that the one who had helped him was a Samaritan, he cursed the day of his birth, saying, “Woe is me that I should be helped by an unclean sinner.” And entreating the host to cast the coins he had received onto the dungheap, for they were unclean as coming from unclean hands, he wrote letters to his friends in a far country, earnestly desiring that they should send him money that he might pay the host all that he owed.

Nor did Jesus refuse the help of the Samaritan woman, though he had better water for her than she for him (John 4:7). So the idea that money from TEC should by no means be allowed to taint Tanzanian hands seems to be a novel idea based on notions of ritual purity; which would explain a great deal.

Now, if this refusal of funds merely meant one less perk for the bishops who passed this legislation, that is, if it really concerned them directly, I would say, fine. But the money these bishops are refusing isn’t meant for them — it is for ministries to the hungry, the poor, the widows and orphans — of which there are hundreds of thousands in Tanzania. The bishops are holding a metaphorical gun to the heads of these suffering hostages, and threatening to pull the trigger unless The Episcopal Church repents and recants. Do you think that image overwrought? We are talking here literally of life and death for many of these innocents. And while going on a hunger strike oneself to force others to an act of conscience is one thing, to make others undertake a starvation strike seems altogether immoral. I don’t know what ethical system these bishops were instructed in, but in my book (you know, the one with an Old and a New part) the primary duty of those who would serve God is to serve the suffering, not to demand adherence to a purity code.

Of course, this is only the latest chapter in the continuing saga of those who think of themselves as holy versus those who do the things Jesus actually commanded his disciples to do. Let me explore one of the earlier chapters with you, and how Jesus dealt with one who thought he knew where holiness was to be found — and not found.

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In the present debates the story of “The Woman Taken In Adultery” has come up more than once. This episode from our Lord’s ministry, appearing only in some versions of the Gospel of John, and occasionally in Luke, is cited by “liberals” for its notes of tolerance and suspension of judgment and by “conservatives” for its call for reformation of life. As with much of Scripture its one-size message apparently fits all.

There is another gospel episode, however, that I find much more apposite to our present case, called “The Anointing in Bethany.” John (12:1-8) places the scene in the hospitable and somewhat irregular household of Martha, Mary and Lazarus, while Matthew (26:6-13) and Mark (14:3-9) place it in the home of Simon the leper. All three evangelists highlight the extravagant offering of perfume, the diversion of resources that might have served the poor, and Jesus’ response that serving him in this instance takes precedence. (In these cases the Tanzanian and Ugandan fund-refusers might — by a squint-eyed misunderstanding of Jesus — have some remote justification for letting the poor be “always with them” while they serve Jesus directly. Point is, Jesus has now told us, in his absence, to serve him in the poor. Sorry, bishops.)

Luke (7:36-50), however, with his characteristic urge to highlight issues of salvation and redemption, places the scene in the enemy camp, in the home of Simon the Pharisee, whose concern is not with perfume or the poor, but with the woman, or rather, with the sort of woman he knows her to be, not an individual person so much as a member of a despised class of people.

The Pharisee no doubt thinks that he has escaped the snares of sin by his careful observance of the rules. There is no hint that it ever occurs to his purified conscience, “If this man were a prophet he would not accept my invitation to dinner, for he would know what sort of man I am.” No, the Pharisee is prudent; he is temperate. Like his confrère who compared himself favorably to the tax collector, the great gulf between his upright life and this fallen woman’s lifestyle is obvious to him. “Yes,” he might say, “we are all sinners; but some are clearly more sinful than others.”

And Jesus appears at first to ratify this assessment: he offers the analogy of debt forgiveness, forgiveness to one who owed much and to one who owed little. But Jesus doesn’t stop there, with what the Pharisee could well take as a flattering assessment, a pat on the head for his correct answer to the moral drama unfolding at his dinner table.

Instead Jesus presses home the significance of the answer: the Pharisee has judged himself, correctly this time, and Jesus goes on to compare and contrast Simon’s parsimonious welcome with the woman’s lavish and costly service.

The Pharisee welcomes Jesus to the table, but keeps him at arms’ length and sits in judgment — and in error. For Jesus not only knows what sort of woman it is who is ministering to him, but knows it better than the Pharisee possibly can, better than the Pharisee knows himself. The Pharisee cannot fathom why Jesus would allow a sinner to be a minister to him, or at least such a sinner. Of his own trifling sins he cares but little, for he is sure of his own righteousness. But this woman! That is another matter altogether. And so he sits in double judgement, of the woman and her Lord.

She, on the other hand, isn’t worried about her sins, which indeed are many. Nor is there a mention of repentance concerning her tears — unusual for Luke! Rather these are responsive tears of love flowing from faith and hope, from the knowledge of forgiveness, the theology of virtue encompassed and expressed in a woman thought by the Pharisee incapable of goodness, a woman who incarnates and enacts the liturgical sacrament of baptism with her confession of faith, the washing of her tears, and anointing her Lord with fragrant ointment, sealed with the kiss of peace.

So we are presented with two models for our own encounter with Christ, with Christian ministry, with service to the body of Christ which is the church. All who serve the Lord are sinners, all who serve the Lord are forgiven. Some will prefer to spend their time worrying about other people’s sins and how the church can tolerate them. They will seek to obstruct their service, thinking all the while that they protect God’s body from the touch of unclean hands. Others will get on with the works of faith, of hope, and of love. Is there any question at all which Christ would rather have us do?

— Tobias Haller BSG

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