The Accidental Anglican

How to do a church split

I never thought I would ever say this out loud, but if you're going to have a church split, this may be the only way to do it with integrity.

Just for the record, I'm not for church splits.  I'm not for congregations defying episcopal (little "e") leadership and walking away from the denomination.  (I think the "third way" -- and a painful way it is -- actually honors Jesus most.)  But I understand how high the price of "obedience" can be.

Church of the Ascension's walk-out was, according to a former senior warden, the cumulative effect of all of the controversy that's swirled since New Hampshire Bishop V. Gene Robinson's consecration.  The straw that apparently broke the camel's back?  Alabama Bishop Henry Parsley's censoring of a Sunday School class that was intended to allow parishioners to discuss the future direction of the Episcopal church and the larger Anglican communion.  (If you want a little taste for Bishop Parsley's views, see his treatise on sexual ethics.  Not sexual morality, mind you -- sexual ethics.)

Several years back, before the Robinson consecreation, a church I was a member of became one of the first churches to join the AMiA group.  It was ugly.  Property was claimed by both sides, lawyers were engaged -- it was a mess that dishonored the name of Christ.  Were it not for a local Christian attorney who offered to step in and mediate a settlement, the Body of Christ on both sides of the dispute would have been dragged through the courts.  I left that congregation with great sorrow.  It's a wonder I didn't leave the denomination altogether.

It's not easy to walk away from a beautiful building, safe structures, old friends.  But Rev. van Dyke had the integrity to do just that.  I just wish bishops like Henry Parsley didn't make it such an appealing option for those of us who want to remain orthodox.

Adventures in The Daily Office, or, Don't Try This Away from Home

One winter evening a few years back, I boarded a plane in Detroit, heading for Atlanta to make my connection home.  I had begun packing my Book of Common Prayer and a slender Bible in my carry-on each week with every intention of praying the Evening Office en route.  Most weeks, my intentions were nobler than my practices.

Just as the plane pushed back from the gate, the snow which wasn't supposed to fall for another four hours began coming down with a vengeance.  The plane stopped.  Great, I thought - now I'm stuck in Detroit overnight.  But the captain came on the speaker and assured us we'd just get a quick de-icing and be on our way.

After we got airborne and the seat belt sign clicked off, I jumped up, slipped my prayer book and Bible out of the overhead, then settled back into my seat.  Before I opened either book, my seatmate cast an odd glance at the little gold cross-emblazoned prayer book sitting conspicuously on my tray.  Then he started digging through his pants pockets, searching for something. 

In a moment, his palm was extended toward me, offering two small hard wrapped candies.  "Here," he said.  "Maybe one of these will help."

I didn't figure that one out until I was driving home from the airport six hours later.

And that was the last time I tried to pray The Daily Office on an airplane.

(If you want to do some experimenting with The Daily Office, try the Mission St. Clare site, or read C.W. McPherson's Grace at This Time.  Both have been a tremendous help to me in starting the practice of daily prayer in the Anglican tradition.)

Why I'm an Episcopalian

The question was innocuous enough.  You'd think after four years I'd be able to answer it.

But as my Baptist neighbors pulled into my driveway after we returned from a recent symphony concert, the question took me by surprise:  "So, why did you convert?"

And it's not the first time anyone's asked me, either.  Another friend of mine, a Methodist, responded to the news of my confirmation with, "Why'd you do that?"

I suppose, in many circles, going from Baptist to Episcopalian is considered a bit shocking.  Even with denominational barriers crumbling in recent decades, the evangelical conceit is that one moves away from liturgical churches as one matures spiritually, not toward them.

Given that, I'm usually hesitant to respond with any specifics.  After all, choosing a new faith tradition implies rejection of the old one.  I certainly don't want to offend or judge.  And so I answer ... carefully.

I always come back to the liturgy.  In my Baptist years, I was subtly taught to distrust forms of any kind (never mind that any worship service is a "form").  Spontaneity was highly prized - praying was extemporaneous, preachers never read anything during their sermons except the scripture passage, and as Baptist worship became more influenced by charismatic practice, even the singing became more free-form (or is that "form-free"?).

But once I stopped stressing out about juggling a prayer book and a hymnal, Anglican worship touched me in ways I couldn't really explain.  These were no dead forms - these were ancient echoes of a faith that is, as Eugene Peterson says, "continents wide and centuries deep." 

We knelt - to confess, to ask, to adore.  We stood - to listen, to praise, to recite.  And as we sat in the cool and the quiet of what is truly a sanctuary, listening to the Eucharistic Prayer, I felt I'd stepped out of a noisy world and into the Presence of the Holy.

I couldn't help but compare it to the Sundays I spent in Baptist megachurches - the rousing congregational singing, the pacing of the fiery preacher, the emotional altar call.  The ads for the last church I attended called it "exciting worship."  I soon called it "jarring."

No doubt, much of my response to liturgy is tied to my temperament.  I'm a classic introvert who hates crowds and noise and who looks for meaning everywhere.  And that's okay.  I suspect God's big enough to allow for that.

On an early episode of Joan of Arcadia, Joan accuses the God figure of being "snippy."  His response? "I appear to you in a form you can understand. You understand snippy so I'm snippy."

I understand silence.  I understand symbols.  I understand beautiful language and old music and even older prayers.  And God, gracious God, allows me to see Him in those things.

And that is why I'm an Episcopalian.