The Accidental Anglican

DIY Religion 101

It's interesting to read about people who have pretty much made up their own personal religion.  When they're interviewed, I often wonder if they've ever actually heard themselves say these things out loud before and noticed the logical disconnects in their own theology:

The sort of eclectic spirituality you're describing is appealing to many people. But do you ever think that by picking and choosing from different religious traditions there might be a temptation to choose -- for lack of a better term -- the "fun" things and avoid the difficult things, like moral codes?

It really depends upon the person and the situation. I take what resonates with me from each religion. It's not necessarily what's fun -- it's more a matter of what works. But you are right that some people might do that, and I don't think there is anything wrong with that. Anyway, I think moral codes are just religion's excuse to judge other people.

So in your view there is no right and wrong? It's all relative? Murder? Genocide? They might be OK?

You know what? If somebody kidnapped one of my kids and I had to kill that person in order to save my child, you bet your ass I'd do that.

I don't believe in right or wrong. It just is. If it feels like something that I should do, then I'll do it. Or if it feels like something that I shouldn't do, then I won't do it.

People who follow traditional religious paths often enjoy having a sense of certainty about their beliefs. And they have a community of like-minded people to worship with, authorities they can turn to for guidance, that sort of thing. Do you, as the creator of your own spirituality, have that sense of certainty?

Absolutely, because I am the one who is in control. As long as I am the one who is in control and I am responsible for everything that happens in my life, of course there is certainty.

But there are so many things you can't control that might affect you. There are senseless crimes, wars, global warming, to name a few. Doesn't that make you wonder about how much control you really have?

I don't see how any of that is affecting me personally. I go on with my life. If there is something I can do to prevent global warming, I'll do what I can. But my life goes on as normal.

What sources do you turn to when you need comfort, guidance or spiritual inspiration?

I meditate. That's all I need to do.

Okay, let me see if I have this straight:

1. She doesn't follow moral codes because they're just an excuse to judge people, and judging people is wrong.
2. She doesn't believe in right or wrong (except, of course, the whole "judging people" part, because that's wrong, period).
3. But if someone kidnapped her child, that would be wrong, too, so killing them to make it stop would be right.  Not that there's really any "right" or "wrong."  It's just ... well ... it's what she would feel was right.
4. All she's interested in is what happens to her directly.  After all, she's in control, and she has everything she needs inside herself.  She has no connection with the rest of humanity - her actions don't impact anyone else, and theirs don't impact her.  Except for the whole global warming thing.  And only if it occurs to her at the time.

So, is it judgmental to say that someone hasn't thought through things very well?

I snark, therefore I am

I just realized something: I'm a cranky cynic. Or a cynical crank. Whatever.

The evidence:

• At my monthly "Women's Success Circle" (a businesswomen's support group), I have to suppress my gag reflex during the opening "go around the circle and say what you're grateful for" exercise.
• During a recent conference call, a client answered the obligatory "how are you?" question with, "I'm just counting my blessings." 'Where's a shovel when you need one?' I thought to myself.

The most disturbing indication of this personal trait came when I received this week's church newsletter. In it was an announcement of a new "Christian Formation" class led by one of our newer clergy staff members, under the title "God's Grace and Your Barbarous Kernel" (huh?). Judging from the amusing description and the required texts, this looks to be one of those "postmodern" classes. Ah ... well ... okay.

But what really alarmed me was my reaction to the instruction to "[p]lease [be sure to] have read the first two chapters of [text one] and BCP pp. 880-885 for our first day."

"Whoo, boy," I cackled when I first read it. "Yeah, let's see how this one goes over."  I flashed back to college English lit classes in which we all stared blankly at the professor when asked questions about the text we neglected to read.  I could just picture the first day of "Engaging Postmodern Culture 101": three people show up, only one of whom brought the books to class and none of whom actually read them. This show may be worth the price of admission.

But another voice, one not so cynical, shot back, "You know, you're always complaining about lame Bible studies where everybody sits around talking about what verse 24 means to them, wandering off topic and staring into their coffee. And now here's something different. What's your problem?"

What is my problem? Good question. I take a look at the reading list, find the books on Amazon.com, and decide, hey, at least one of these is something I'd probably pick up at Barnes & Noble if I saw it on the shelf. Why not read and discuss it with a group of people? Why not interface it with Scripture with a bunch of fellow Christians?

And can I lose the 'tude and not cease to exist? Scary thought ... scary enough that I only want to have it in the presence of Christ.

Maybe there's hope for me yet. Stay tuned ... and pray for me.

Answering unanswerable questions

I received the following email from a reader a couple of months ago (which I post here with his/her kind permission and to whom I owe a big apology for my late response):

Why does God allow suffering?

As a blog site linked by Stand Firm I know you are interested in certain religious issues, have a reasonable level of intelligence, and might respond from the Episcopal perspective.

The question is NOT how to deal with suffering, it is WHY does God ALLOW suffering.

It seems that God could devise a system to draw us to Him without having to inflict pain on us, or our loved ones, or our pets, or our "neighbors." Even as limited as our intelligence is, I think God could have devised a way to understand without pain.

Angels do not suffer.

Biblical basis would be appreciated, but is not essential.

Email response appreciated.

To say that's a BIG question is the understatement of the millenium.  To a lot of people, it's THE stumbling block to faith.  Is such the case for this reader (who, with the exception of an email address, remains anonymous)?  Perhaps it's unfair (or irrelevant) to speculate. 

The temptation here is to be religiously glib, to spout some pious platitude with a stained glass veneer and walk on as if the question - and the person asking it - really don't matter.  I've had others do that to me, and I hate it.  But even so, that's a tough temptation to resist.  I don't know if I can.

The short answer, the one I've always heard (and accepted, at least on the surface) goes a little something like this: Suffering, pain, etc. are direct results of The Fall (a.k.a. humanity's introduction of sin into the world).  Creation itself has fallen under the burden of our rebellion against God.  We've chosen the condition (going our own way rather submitting to God); now we're suffering the consequences.  It's not something that God's doing to "punish" us or "drive" us toward Him - it's just the nature of reality, just like it's the nature of gravity to cause you to fall if you step off the roof.  Fortunately, Christ defeated the power of sin and evil through his death, burial, and resurrection.  The Kingdom of God that Jesus Christ ushered into the world is currently at work restoring everything to its original condition, a work that will not be complete until He returns to earth.  Our task as Christians is to proclaim the availability of that present Kingdom and join with the risen Christ in the Kingdom's work of restoring creation, including humanity, to complete harmony with God.

Did you get all that? ;-}

Still, something within us rages against suffering, and with good reason: we recognize it's not the way things are supposed to be.  While a "big picture" explanation like the above may do just fine when speaking about suffering generally, it doesn't always give us what we're looking for when faced with specific situations.  Why does THIS particular person, place or thing suffer in THIS specific way?  We want a neat answer.  We want to learn what caused this so we can avoid it.  In short, we want control.

And when I say "we," I include myself, too.  I've asked the "why" question a lot lately.  Why does a woman who was just starting to enjoy life get terminal cancer?  Why does a man who begged God not to take his mind away from him end up dying of dementia?  Why does another man who's taking such immaculate care of himself all his life suddenly have the kind of health problems usually caused by bad habits?  I can't conceive of any answer that will make me go, "Oh, okay - I guess that makes sense."

Knowing that, I find myself wanting to challenge the questions above (and the underlying assumptions) rather than attempt to answer them:

• Why is suffering always assumed to be God's fault?  Why do we never ask why WE allow suffering?  Aren't we directly to blame for much of it through human actions and systems like pollution, regressive taxation, etc.?  (I often wondered, in the wake of 9/11, if God was asking us the same question we were busy asking him: "Why did you let this happen?")
• Does anyone really seek God in the absence of pain?  (I know I usually don't.)  If the choice was between pain-with-God and no-pain-without-God, which would most of us choose?
• Is there ANY answer to this question that would make my suffering or that of people I love somehow less painful?  Would ANY answer ever satisfy?
• Can you really disconnect a proper response to suffering from its place in humanity's relationship to God, as my questioner attempts to?  Wouldn't the latter dictate the former?
• And then there's the really blunt (and soul-searching) question that Dallas Willard asks: "Why shouldn't I suffer?  Have I got something better to do?"  (Think about it - it's not as ludicrous as it sounds.)

As my college professors used to tell me (much to my chagrin), if you want better answers, ask better questions.  Jesus was a master (okay, The Master) of getting people to see that they were asking the wrong question to start with, which explained why the answers were so unsatisfying. 

Consider the lawyer who asked Jesus, "So, if I'm supposed to love my neighbor, then who is my neighbor?" [Luke 10:25-37]  Jesus doesn't answer the question, really; He doesn't chide the lawyer for asking it, either (though He had every right to).  He simply tells a story about a victim of a roadside robbery and describes the various responses from passersby.  Then He asks His own question: "Who was most like a neighbor to the beaten man?"  The lawyer, totally taken aback, answers, "The one who helped him," to which Jesus responds, "Go and do the same."  The lawyer's question is completely turned on its head.  "Stop worrying about who they are," Jesus says.  "Think about who you are."

So what's the better question here?

One of the classic texts on the meaning of suffering is the Book of Job.  While I certainly can't take it apart like a seminary student, one part always hits me hard.  Toward the end of the story, Job gets his wish: an audience with God.  He wants to know why - not just why he's suffered, but why anyone suffers.  Why is there no justice?  Why do the lazy prosper and the diligent starve?  Why do fools attain positions of authority while wise men are ignored?  Why does a man like Job, who has endeavored all his life to honor God, have everything taken from him?

God answers Job's questions with more questions [Job 38].  More to the point, God neglects (refuses?) to answer Job's "why" question and instead answers the unasked "who" question: "Who am I?  And who are you?"

Job's response?

 Then Job replied to the LORD :

"I know that you can do all things;
     no plan of yours can be thwarted.

You asked, 'Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?'
     Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
     things too wonderful for me to know.

"You said, 'Listen now, and I will speak;
     I will question you,
     and you shall answer me.'

My ears had heard of you
     but now my eyes have seen you.

Therefore I despise myself
     and repent in dust and ashes."

[Job 42:1-6, NIV]

Job is convinced: knowing who God is makes the question of "why" irrelevant.

Is my questioner satisfied?  Probably not (and I don't say that sarcastically).  After all, I'm saying, in essence, that his/her question is not worth asking, then turn around and answer (feebly) the one question he/she DIDN'T want answered.  That's not very helpful, is it?

Am I even satisfied with that answer?  Not always, quite frankly.  The "who makes why irrelevant" answer is a lot easier for me to swallow when everything's quiet than when I'm in the middle of the storm.

But Job shows me there are different, better, higher questions to be asked.  And within the storm, focusing on the who helps me be at peace with the unanswerable why.  Who is God going to be to me and to others within this?  And who will I be or become?

It's remembering those questions that's the tricky part.

Where have all the "mean" Christians gone?

You know, the next time some smart-aleck syndicated columnist writes about how "mean" we Christians are, I'm going to send the little twerp a copy of this article from the 12/21/05 edition of USA Today.

While a number of both secular and faith-based non-profits are mentioned in this article about post-Katrina relief efforts, it's the Mennonite volunteers in New Orleans who become the focal point of the piece. These people are busy gutting houses and clearing out debris for the elderly, the poor, the handicapped - people who otherwise wouldn't be able to save their homes. They're doing the dirtiest, most thankless work imaginable ... all in the name of Christ.

The article discusses, at length (we're talking 50+ column inches here), not just what they're doing, but why they're doing it:

King [the executive director of Mennonite Disaster Services] insisted they discuss a disturbing question: Should they commit tens of thousands of dollars to a community that might not survive the next storm? ...

But as they sat around a table in a small, second-floor conference room at an Hispanic church, he and the directors kept thinking about the desolation they'd seen in Gentilly and the 9th Ward. The sitaution was desperate - so desperate they decided in the end that they should stay.

"We have to do something," King says. "People here are desperate for hope, so we'll take a risk with them and walk with them."

And they'll walk with these residents of New Orleans for at least the next two years, bringing in work teams from all over North America every week.

They're not alone, of course. Southern Baptists have fed millions with portable soup kitchens and helped clear debris all along the Gulf Coast. United Methodists are working as case managers onsite to help track local needs, in addition to their ongoing relief efforts around the globe. In my own denomination, Episcopal Relief & Development has approved a long-term plan for ongoing support for Katrina victims.

Those are just ones I'm personally familiar with.  An exhaustive list would be nearly impossible.

Are these the actions of people who are "mean" and "hateful" at heart? I don't think so.

"I hate when that happens"

I love sermons - when they're talking about somebody else's sins.

I don't like 'em so much when they talk about mine.

Today's divine appointment is courtesy of my tardiness.  (I hate being late.  I'm never late.  Although I do cut it a little close sometimes ...)  I walked into my usual 9:00 service at about 8:58, only to find no room in the sanctuary.  Okay, fine, I thought.  I can go someplace else.

So I did.  I hung out for a while waiting for the 10:30 service at another church, then walked into a mostly empty sanctuary and sat down.  I was so unnerved by my displacement I forgot to kneel and pray, but eventually I settled down.

Service starts.  Processional, check.  Opening responsive reading for lighting of Advent candles, no check.  (Which part of "turn to the first page of your bulletin" did I not get?  What, did my IQ drop 40 points when I walked in?)  Opening acclamation, Scripture readings, hymns, check, check, check.  All proceeds according to the order of service.

Then the guy in the purple hanging-around-the-neck thingee gets up and starts talking.  Something about how Mary's initial response to the Annunciation is a lot like our initial response to seemingly impossible circumstances.  "Nope, nope, can't be done.  Uhn-uh.  No way."

But the story takes a turn when the angel answers her objection: "With God, all things are possible."  Oh, how nice.  I can see where this is going.

We step through the usual scenarios.  Impossible relationships?  Possible with God.  Impossible finances?  Possible with God.  All things.  Okay.  We get it.  I make a mental note to apply these little gems to my life as soon as I get home.

Sermon ends.  "The peace of the Lord be always with you," says the priest.  "And also with you," we respond.  And as I turn to greet the person directly behind me, I'm face-to-face with ... an enemy.

Okay, "enemy" is a little over-the-top.  But this is someone I've not been on speaking terms with for a while.  It's not that I hate the guy.  He's too benign for that.  It's just that, given the history behind the relationship (WAY too much for me to go into here), it's easier to pretend he doesn't exist.

Oh, but he does.  And he's standing there, waiting.  In shock, I extend my hand and grasp his.  "Good morning," I say with a bit too much enthusiasm.  And I move on to greet the next person in the row.  I just want it to be over with.

A new, horrifying thought occurs to me: it's time for Communion.  Isn't the Passing of the Peace supposed to be a preparation for Communion?  As in, don't come to the Lord's Table unless you're on good terms with your fellow man?

But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of that cup.

For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord's body.

For this cause many are weak and sickly among you, and many sleep.

(I Corinthians 28-30, KJV) 

I've got about two minutes to figure this thing out.  Am I going up or not?

Have I forgiven him?  Well ... I think I have.  Not that I condone what he did.  It was stupid and despicable at the time, and it still is.  And the sight of him does make me uncomfortable, knowing how he hurt someone I loved.

But is that the same as being "unforgiving?"  I've heard it said that forgiving someone doesn't mean you excuse what that person did, but it does mean you let go of your need for payback.  Do I pass that test?  I think so.  At one point, I would have enjoyed nothing more than trashing this man's reputation.  (Thank God, I resisted the temptation.)  Now ... no.  But what about this lingering discomfort?

This whole "what forgiveness looks like in practical terms" thing starts making my head hurt.  I begin to think I'm never going to get it.  It's not the first time I've pondered it vis-a-vis this relationship, and I still don't feel settled about it.

But what was that about "impossible?"

Another box to put myself in

I love quizzes.  I especially love quizzes that touch on religious attitudes.  So when I ran across a reference to this one on churchofthemasses.blogspot.com, I was sufficiently intrigued to take it.

I've heard of a lot of religious catgories in my time (Evangelical, Fundamentalist, etc.), but this is one I've never heard of: Neo Orthodox:

You scored as Neo orthodox. You are neo-orthodox. You reject the human-centredness and scepticism of liberal theology, but neither do you go to the other extreme and make the Bible the central issue for faith. You believe that Christ is God's most important revelation to humanity, and the Trinity is hugely important in your theology. The Bible is also important because it points us to the revelation of Christ. You are influenced by Karl Barth and P T Forsyth.

Neo orthodox		75%
Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan		71%
Emergent/Postmodern		68%
Roman Catholic		68%
Classical Liberal		57%
Reformed Evangelical		57%
Fundamentalist		46%
Charismatic/Pentecostal		39%
Modern Liberal		32%

What's your theological worldview?
created with QuizFarm.com

I'll have to do a little reading on this ...

The Fragmented World of "Special Interest" Christianity

After reading a hilarious Beliefnet post on women's ministry from Orthodox Christian author Frederica Mathewes-Green, I couldn't help but think about how I feel about singles ministry … and, by extension, all special interest ministries.

I'm always amused when (mostly married) churchgoers exclaim when inviting me to their church: "We've got a great singles ministry!"  It’s usually the first thing out of their mouths when they know I’m not married.

Granted, it's a pretty popular concept.  Google shows 59,100 hits for the phrase "singles ministry."  Who knew the church's main duty to its single members was to arrange holy hook-ups?

Much of this obsession, I think, came out of the alarm the evangelical church sounded about cultural threats to the family.  Family ministries were created, divorce care groups sprang up, and activities for children and youth came to center stage.  Churches were rushing to fill the void.  And that was a good thing.

But this Special Interest Christian virus has begun infecting the entire church.  When I was growing up Southern Baptist, Sunday School classes were divided by age groups - first children, then adults.  Later, the “singles” vs. “married adults” classes started up.  Now, the larger the church, the more ways they find to separate parishioners by some external criteria.  Churches don’t talk to human beings anymore - they talk to demographics.

This was brought home to me recently while watching a televised sermon called "Cultivating Contentment at Home."  Despite being based on the writings of Mr. Sanctified Singleness himself, the Apostle Paul, every alliterated point was directed at "the family" (always said with a reverent hush).

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why this sermon was so specifically addressed to the family.  Since when is contentment a family-only virtue?

Meanwhile, messages addressed to singles almost always fall into three categories:

1. The "just don't do it" sermon (we all know what that one's about);
2. The "how to prepare for marriage" sermon; and
3. The "we're going to talk to all you single adults today so you don't feel left out" sermon (my personal favorite)

The biggest tragedy I've ever seen come out of this special interest mentality occurred at my father's church.  The new senior pastor, fresh off a run at youth ministry, came in all fired up about creating a "faith family" (there's that f-word again) geared toward young couples with children.  Unfortunately, anyone not fitting his template (25-40, married, 2-3 kids - in other words, just like him) didn't make the cut.  And it was a point he was not shy about making publicly, either.  Most of the senior citizens, confused and hurt by his betrayal, drifted away to another church down the street.

Don't get me wrong.  I think it's important that we identify - and attempt to meet - special needs within our congregations.  But in doing so, we should remember that, as people created in God's image, we're all a lot more alike than we are different.  We should be bringing people together, not separating them.

Not everyone buys into the "special interest Christian" zeitgeist.  Newly-married Lauren F. Winner (author of Girl Meets God and Mudhouse Sabbath) has written a book called Real Sex about the Christian virtue of chastity.  In it, Winner addresses the entire Christian community - single and married - and talks about chastity as a spiritual discipline for every life stage and situation. 

In other words, it's not just about no sex before marriage or not committing adultery.  It's about using sexuality - in its totality - in Christ-honoring ways in the context of Christian community.  It's a larger view than you typically get from youth group abstinence pledges and wives laying hands on their husbands' eyes and praying for male self-control (I am not making that up).

It’s refreshing to be talked to as if I'm a human being and not a statistical anomaly.  I just wish the church would do it more often.

Post-publication note (5/23/05): And now for something completely different ... just in the interest of "equal time," here's a negative review of Winner's book. At least it's an interesting opinion ...

A Season of Loss

As I write this, I am bracing myself for another loss ... one more in a series I've experienced recently.

May is turning into a month of loss for me.  I lost my mother to lupus on May 11, 1981.  I lost my father to dementia and Parkinson's 21 years later, to the day.  And now, again in May, I am losing my stepmom to cancer. 

Back in February, I entered my stepmother's home after a frantic call from one of her neighbors.  Her normally chatty personality had been replaced by a foggy, far-off voice that barely responded to even the simplest inquiries. 

I found her lying on her bed, splattered with vomit and delirious.  The rest of the evening was filled with ambulances, emergency rooms, and desperate cell phone calls to her out-of-state adult children.

The diagnosis: glioblastoma multiforme, one of the most common -- and deadliest -- brain tumors.  The prognosis: two months -- if we were lucky.

Surgery, weeks of radiation and chemotherapy, and as much hope as we could muster bought us nearly three months of time.  Time to visit, go to lunch, shop -- time to be with family and friends.  Time to say goodbye.  We were amazed by her stamina, her good cheer, so much so we were lulled into complacency.

That complacency ended abruptly on Mother's Day.  My cell phone began to vibrate during Bible Study hour that day, the urgent call coming from her daughter.  She's fallen, she's got a horrific headache, and she may have had a seizure, she said.  Can you go check on her?

Sure, I responded.  Another afternoon in an emergency room, another CT scan, some more blood tests.  After aggressive radiation and state-of-the-art chemo, the tumor was unchanged in size.  But that didn't necessarily mean anything.  GBMs are notorious for sending out malignant tentacles into surrounding brain tissue.  The tumor had progressed in spite of our efforts.

The same woman who two weeks before was shopping with her son and daughter-in-law with little fatigue is now sleeping 16 to 20 hours a day.  One side of her face is swollen grotesquely.  The one eye she can still open stares back at us with questions we can't always decipher, let alone answer.

She knows we're there and can sometimes respond.  Mostly, though, she is mute, taking everything in and keeping her own counsel.

The word "hospice" is being whispered in the hallways of her once immaculately-kept home.   Relatives are being driven or flown in.  I'm told that the next two to four weeks will be grisly.

I am reminded of what Jesus said to Peter on the shores of the Sea of Galillee: "I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go." (John 21:18) 

But what is amazing is the following verse: "Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, 'Follow me!'"

And the whole thing is preceded by another command: "Feed my sheep!"

"[T]he kind of death by which Peter would glorify God" seems an odd way to view the spectre of an old man dying, not in the "dignified" way we moderns seek after, but in weakness and pain.  Even reading it through the traditional lens of Peter's martyrdom doesn't really help one escape the text.

This whole "death that glorifies God" thing will be a difficult lesson.  And I don't really expect to learn all of it this go-round.  It seems to be one of those things that takes a lifetime to understand.  What will "glorifying God" through this really mean?

I suspect, in part, it means that all of our relationships -- stepsiblings, generations, family and medical professionals -- will be sorely tested.  Compassion will surely be needed in large quantities.   So will patience.  And forgiveness.

It's all a little too big for me to wrap my brain around now.  And I'm going to have to be okay with that.

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.)