A Flight of Fancy

Having just published a post entitled "Reality Check," I'm going to indulge in a flight of fancy, inspired by the Diocese of Canterbury's coat of arms. In the image at left, that Y-shaped thingy is called a pallium. It is ironic that the diocese (and many other Anglican coats of arms) should retain the pallium as a symbol, since it specifically designates the authority of a metropolitan archbishop, delegated by the pope. The history of the pallium is rich and varied, of course, but its current symbolic meaning is tied to the papacy.

In the Roman Catholic church, only metropolitan archbishops may wear the pallium, which is bestowed by the pope on them at a special mass.

Here's where my flight of fancy comes in: What if the pope were to bestow the pallium on the Archbishop of Canterbury? What would that mean? In symbolic terms, it would mean the archbishop recognized that his authority and jurisdiction was delegated to him by the pope, and it would entitle him to sit in the college of bishops; were he to be created a cardinal, that would make him a papal elector.

Now, obviously there are problems, many problems, with such a simple act. But they'd be interesting problems.

As far as I know, the plenitudo potestatis of the pope is absolute, though of course it is exercised nowadays within curial strictures and keeping political realities in mind. The bottom line, however, is that the pope can do what he pleases, and if he wants, he can bestow the pallium on the Archbishop of Canterbury.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, on the other hand, would not be as free to accept the pallium should the pope offer it to him. He would, presumably at minimum, need the consent of the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, that is, H.M. the Queen. She has been indulgent with members of her own family who have wanted to convert to Catholicism, and it might amuse her to allow it. Maybe she and Benedict can discuss this idea over tea and crumpets when he stays at Buckingham Palace this Summer.

I would love to see how the blogosphere would react to such a simple ecumenical gesture. Sometimes a little thing like a band of wool can make a big difference.

Reality Check

An open letter from the Association for the Rights of Catholics in the Church provides a salutary reality check to Anglicans considering conforming to the Church of Rome. Though some of its claims are debatable, certainly, it is intended to inform potential converts what they're getting themselves into, at least as far as American Roman Catholicism is concerned.

As to concerns over the validity of Anglican orders mentioned in this letter, which some of my readers have expressed, I recommend A Review of Anglican Orders: The Problem and the Solution by Roman Catholic theologian George H. Tavard (Liturgical Press: 1990).

Quote of the Day: Rowan Williams on the Apostolic Constitution

From the Archbishop of Canterbury's address at the Willebrands Symposium in Rome:

The recent announcement of an Apostolic Constitution making provision for former Anglicans shows some marks of the recognition that diversity of ethos does not in itself compromise the unity of the Catholic Church, even within the bounds of the historic Western patriarchate. But it should be obvious that it does not seek to do what we have been sketching: it does not build in any formal recognition of existing ministries or units of oversight or methods of independent decision-making, but remains at the level of spiritual and liturgical culture, as we might say. As such, it is an imaginative pastoral response to the needs of some; but it does not break any fresh ecclesiological ground. It remains to be seen whether the flexibility suggested in the Constitution might ever lead to something less like a 'chaplaincy' and more like a church gathered around a bishop.

This is precisely the point I was trying to make in my last post about the necessity of a married episcopate to the preservation of any Anglican ecclesial charism within the Church of Rome and under the primacy of Peter. What, ultimately, is distinctive about the Ecclesia Anglicana as a church compared to the Church of Rome or the Churches of the East? Simply this: the church is gathered around a bishop who may be married, with children. This cultural distinctive is also an ecclesiological distinctive. Withhold it, as the Apostolic Constitution does, and what we're left with is a "chaplaincy" (or what I called, more caustically, a "ghetto") within the Roman Catholic Church, not a "particular ritual church" (in the language of the commentary to the Constitution) with its own ecclesial integrity.

As a pastoral tool, the Apostolic Constitution is a godsend to those looking for resolution to the existential pain of living within the messiness of Anglicanland but yearning to retain beloved aspects of its culture and liturgical heritage. But the sacrifices it requires means it falls short of having lasting ecclesiological significance on the ecumenical front. Those who are looking for such will find the Constitution is more of a Trojan Horse than an Ark of Salvation.

The Apostolic Constitution Anglicanorum Coetibus: A Bridge to Nowhere?

The pope has issued his apostolic constitution making provision for former Anglicans to become Roman Catholics. There will be many words spilled over this, but I will simply note what the pope has not granted:

A married former Anglican bishop is eligible to be appointed the Ordinary, but only as a priest. He may, however, petition the Holy See to use the "insignia of the episcopal office." This means the pope will allow a married former Anglican bishop to dress like a bishop and exercise the jurisdiction of a bishop but not to be ordained a bishop in the Roman Catholic Church. Bottom line: No married Catholic bishops.

The Ordinary may petition the Holy See to allow married men to be ordained priests who have never been ordained, but the dispensation from clerical celibacy will be on a "case by case basis, according to objective criteria approved by the Holy See." These criteria have yet to be issued. I imagine they will be rather narrow: that only if a married man is the last available solution will the dispensation be granted. The culture of married clergy will, otherwise, die out.

Following from this, men who are ordained may not later get married; once ordained, the discipline of celibacy is lifelong, unless the man is later laicized.

What does this amount to, then? A very comfortable ghetto for those Anglicans who are itching for a resolution to the discomfort they feel, but nothing that would safeguard the continuation of "Anglican patrimony" in an organic nature into the future.

Why? Because, as the commentary asserts, "these Personal Ordinariates cannot be considered as Particular Ritual Churches since the Anglican liturgical, spiritual and pastoral tradition is a particular reality within the Latin Church." The reason given for this in the commentary is that "the creation of a Ritual Church might have created ecumenical difficulties." On the one hand, given the history of the Uniate churches and the formal repudiation of this method of reunion at Balamand in 1993, this is true. On the other hand, it is a cop-out; if the Holy See were truly interested in lasting results, it would be wise to re-visit the issue of whether uniatism has, in fact, proved to be the most effective way of bringing significant ecclesial communities back into full visible and jurisdictional communion with the successors of Peter.

The argument that the Anglican tradition is [merely] "a particular reality within the Latin Church" is to ignore the fact that over the course of nearly 500 years, the Anglican tradition has developed its own culture of a married clergy, including a married episcopate, which--while unprecedented compared to Rome and Orthodoxy--is normal and as much of a potential "gift" to the whole Church as celibacy has been to the Latin Church. Until Rome recognizes that such a gift is not the Trojan Horse it fears (an end to celibacy in the West), former Anglicans will simply be ghettoized, and then assimilated. Rome could stretch a little bit further and get some really great results--but to do so would require the most significant ecclesial development since Vatican II.

As things stand, the pope will likely get some takers, but Rome will not benefit from the Anglican "patrimony" over the long term, and the results will not be as dramatic as some might hope.

Should the pope really want to find the tipping point in this situation, I have two words for him: Married bishops.

And should the pope want to make Anglican patrimony a permanent feature of the Catholic Church, I have three words for him: Particular Ritual Church.

So far, that's a bridge too far for this pontifex maximus.

It remains to be seen whether the pontiff has erected, with this Apostolic Constitution, a bridge to nowhere.

Coming Up For Air

A few of you have noted how "silent" I have been of late. Silent, yes, but not inactive. In fact, I would say that the lack of activity on this blog is in inverse proportion to the level of activity in my personal and professional life.

On a personal note, I hope you will rejoice with me that the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church has co-opted one more soul. On All Saints' Day, the eighth anniversary of my diaconal ordination, our son, Andrew, was baptized. It was a glorious liturgy, surrounded by parishioners, friends, and family. I am now on paternity leave, more or less (if you don't count the fact that I was back last night to be the celebrant at the solemn mass of requiem for All Souls, for instance), and perhaps I will have a chance to write a bit before I return to my paying job in mid-November.

I am eagerly awaiting, with the rest of Anglicanland, the promulgation of the Apostolic Constitution. I have chosen not to write anything about this recent development until I have actually read the document. But I've enjoyed the speculations of others, and speculating privately with those who want to get my take on it. But I'm as ignorant as the next person when it comes to how this will all play out, so I'm going to remain uncharacteristically silent.

I note with satisfaction that the Communion Partners Initiative is widening its scope to include clergy who are not rectors. I take it a new category of membership is being devised, that of "Communion Partner Associate," and you may find my name among those clergy soon.

I have decided to join the Society of Catholic Priests and have been elected chaplain of the MD-DC-VA chapter, whose inaugural gathering I hosted at St. Paul's on the feast of St. James of Jerusalem (October 23rd). I will be attending the inaugural provincial gathering at Christ Church, New Haven, Connecticut next week, where I anticipate learning more. I decided to join the SCP because I hope that it will not turn into the Ladies Auxiliary of Affirming Catholicism, which it might, but my thinking was that the only way to encourage moderate-to-conservative priests to join the SCP was by working within it and to see whether it can be the sort of fellowship for catholic-minded clergy that I have been looking for: a place where clergy of varying convictions on the hot-button issues "play well with others" and in the process actually engage in mutual discipleship. We shall see.

I considered joining the SSC, by the way, but nobody responded to my inquiries. My rector is good friends with the Master of the SSC in the UK, whom I understand does not like the SCP, so I'm wading into murky political waters, to be sure. But I just want to spend some time with catholic-minded clergy, however disreputably leftie or rightie they might be. I'm sure I'll be guilty by association, and judged unworthy by some because I hang out with the "wrong sort," but so was Jesus, so I'm in good company, ultimately.

And I fully admit I'm the "wrong sort" myself. What are you even doing reading this? Shame on you.

Should I Stay or Should I Go? A Sermon on the Sixth Chapters of Ephesians & John

The following sermon, on Ephesians 6:10-20 & John 6:56-69 , was preached on 23 August 2009 (Year B, 12 Pentecost, Proper 16, RCL) at St. Paul’s Parish, K St. Washington, D.C.

by N.J.A. Humphrey.

Those of you who have been around here for a while know that one of my big themes is mutual commitment to each other in Christ. My sermon of two weeks ago was all about the reasons for staying connected to this particular community of faith when things get tough. But this raised the question in several peoples’ minds of whether I believed there was anything that ever legitimized or justified changing our commitments. So this morning I would like to reflect a bit on how we know it’s time to go. When should we end our current commitments and move on to something new?

I believe that the basic level of commitment to which we are called in the Church can be encapsulated in one word: Perseverance. As Paul writes to the Ephesians in this morning’s epistle, “keep alert and always persevere.” Paul exhorts us to “stand firm.” Paul doesn’t tell us to lie down and let the world, the flesh, and the devil walk all over us. No, as our opening hymn exhorts us, we are to “stand up, stand up for Jesus.” The question here is: Where? Where shall we stand?

While I generally believe that we are to stand where we’re already standing—that we are to “grow where we are planted”—at the same time, I have to recognize that God sometimes does indeed call us elsewhere. Were I growing where I was originally planted, after all, I’d still be a fundamentalist. I believe God called me from the fundamentalist upbringing that steeped me in the words of Scripture to the riches of the catholic tradition within Anglicanism, where Word and Sacrament go hand-in-hand.

Given that God can and does call us, throughout our lives, to new and different commitments, I have developed three basic principles of discernment:

1. Until further notice, you are called by God to be where you are. Restlessness and discontent are not signs of a genuine call from God to be anywhere other than where you already are.

2. A genuine call from God is always confirmed by a call to someplace, not merely from someplace. You will know where you are supposed to be when you find yourself in a place that calls you in its own right, and not merely because it provides relief from the pain of where you had been.

3. A genuine call from God is always tied not just to the “where” but the “what.” It is always concretely grounded in the mission God calls us to undertake, that is, a specific vocation.

As to the first principle, I’m a pretty restless guy by nature. I’m always thinking ahead to the next thing—my next project, my next call, our next move. I tend to be a daydreamer, and that gets me in trouble because I don’t always focus on the work at hand, I often don’t pay enough attention to where I am. From time to time, I find myself engaging in escapism or wallowing in boredom. I am too easily discouraged when things don’t immediately go my way.

Most of the time, however, this is all beneath the surface. To look at me you would think I’m the picture of contentment. And that’s because on an even deeper level, I am—at least I am when I’m practicing the discipline of gratitude for the present moment, in all its ambiguity and challenge, and simultaneously in all its consolations. I make no secret, for instance, that I am itching to do a Ph.D. in theology, which is incompatible with full-time employment. Nevertheless, I still feel called to be here, soaking in the beauty of holiness, belting out the hymns, worshiping Christ in his sacramental presence, offering that presence in Word and Sacrament to his people, and equipping his people to carry his presence into the world. Whatever discomfort or ambivalence or frustration I might feel from time to time is no indication that God is calling me to be anywhere other than where I stand right now.

Enough about me. What about you? When you feel a restlessness that just won’t go away, how can you know whether what you feel is the beginning of a call elsewhere? This is where the second principle comes in, because if your moving on is motivated by discontent with your current situation, or worse, by anger, bitterness—even hatred—and what you’re looking for is not something or someone compelling in its (or his or her) own right, but merely stirs up in you the thought, “thank God this place (or this person) isn’t that one,” then you’re missing the essential other half of the equation. A genuine call from God is always because of what this place is, not because it’s not that place. If you have unresolved issues about where you’ve been, they will sooner or later sneak in where you end up. This is not to say you have to be issue-free when you move on, but your destination should be attractive both in its own right and because it challenges you to forgive and to grow. Or, as Paul puts it, you need to end up where you be will be equipped to “put on whatever will make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace.”

Which brings us to the third principle: It’s not just about the “where” but the “what.” What is God really calling you to do? And can you do it here? Or would it better be done over there? In the final analysis, as Frederick Buechner has written, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” In other words, it’s all about engaging in God’s mission in the world, rooted in a particular community of faith that challenges you to grow—even when you don’t want to grow—and confronts you with the ambiguities and complexities of living as a disciple of Christ in a broken world and a wounded Church. And I can’t emphasize enough that last bit: the Church is wounded, everywhere.

It doesn’t matter what sign is on the door: the Body of Christ is broken and fragmented. The Good News is that the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church is made visibly one in any particular place, when its broken and wounded members together receive that Body which was wounded and broken for us, so that, when we eat his flesh and drink his blood, we abide in him, and he in us. In other words, the unity of the Church is not to be found in what we think or what we do, but what Christ does to us when we open ourselves to the Spirit’s activity in our lives within a community gathered to hear the Word and celebrate the Sacraments. The One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church isn’t out there; it’s right here, in me, and in you, and you—and yes, even you! (Well, maybe not you.) The Church may be found wherever two or three gather together in Christ’s name intending to do what Christ commands.

And in that gathering together in Christ’s name as an apostolic community, we are called to ask: Where is Jesus? Where are the words of eternal life? If you find them here and continue to be challenged and nurtured by them here, why would you seek them elsewhere? St. Paul’s is not the only place where the words of eternal life may be found, of course. But the question is whether you are called here, now, to proclaim that gospel of peace from this particular place. And if you aren’t—if for some reason God truly is calling you elsewhere to engage God’s mission in some other messed up joint of a parish in some other multidysfunctional part of the Body of Christ—Go in peace! We’ll still be here if you need us. But don’t let me keep anyone here from following God’s call somewhere else if that is where you need to be in order to love one another—all others, even the people you currently hate—as Christ loves you. If being somewhere else will help you do that better than being here will, what are you waiting for? Get out of here! Go! Because it’s not about you, it’s not about me, it’s not about this beautiful building or this heavenly choir. It’s about God’s love for the world. And if this church isn’t setting you on fire to love the world as Christ loves it, then you shouldn’t be here.

But wait. Don’t rush for the exits all at once. Sit back down for a moment. Before you leave, ask yourself: If I’m not growing and loving as God intends here, is the problem with this place, or is it with me? Most likely, it’s six of one and half-dozen of the other. For if no church is perfect, oftentimes, the call comes down to discerning what kinds of problems God is calling you to live with, and God-willing, in time, what problems God is calling you to do something constructive about.

At one point in my life, I was planning on testing a vocation as a Benedictine monk in a Roman Catholic monastery. But as I was driving along one day, it was as if God said to me: “Nathan”—I wasn’t ordained yet, so God didn’t address me as Fr. Humphrey—“Nathan, pick your poison. You can either be in a church that struggles with the place of women and clerical celibacy and a culture of secrecy where all the pathologies and conflicts are boiling just below the surface, or you can be in a church that struggles with the place of women and human sexuality and a culture of ambiguity where all its pathologies and conflicts are hanging out there for all to see and ridicule. Which would you prefer?” And I said, “The first one, please. I’d be far more comfortable there.” But God said, “Too bad for you. You get the messier one.” “Why me, Lord?” “Because that’s where you’ll grow. That’s where you need to be, and that’s where you will be able to engage most deeply with those things that you’d rather not face. And, by the way, you’ll meet a lot of people struggling with these things, too, and your job is to journey with them in discernment. If you go where you’d prefer to go, you won’t need to do any of that, and you won’t get to, either.”

So here I am, folks. Lucky you! No, lucky me.

So what about you? Are you ready to pick your poison? Well, before you do, I recommend you take the antidote. I’ll give you a hint of what the antidote to ecclesiastical poison is; it’s the only thing that will keep the institutional church from killing you. Jesus said, “the one who eats this bread will live for ever.”

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Should I stay or should I go now?

Should I stay or should I go now?

If I go there will be trouble

An' if I stay it will be double

So come on and let me know...

Should I stay or should I go?

--The Clash

I have this song running through my head this morning, not because I'm in any personal crisis (thank God), but because I've had my fair share of pastoral conversations of late (read: since General Convention) with people who are disturbed by the direction our church is headed. Their concerns resonate most with me on the level of ecclesial discernment: How do I know this church is where God is calling me to be?

I preached a sermon two weeks ago that made the case for staying. I'm going to follow it up with another sermon on Ephesians (drawing as well from John 6:56-69) this Sunday that will reinforce my conviction that the default mode of a Christian is, in the words of Ephesians chapter 6, to "stand firm." (There's a popular blog by that name, I know, which has its own spin on what it means to stand firm...but that's another post...) This sermon, however, will take things from a slightly different angle: When do I know it's time for me to leave?

Stay tuned.

Examining Our Options: A Sermon on Ephesians Chapter 4

The following sermon, on Ephesians 4:25-5:2, was preached on 9 August 2009 (Year B, 10 Pentecost, Proper 14, RCL) at St. Paul’s Parish, K St., Washington, D.C. by N.J.A. Humphrey.

For five Sundays in a row now, we’ve been hearing snippets from the epistle to the Ephesians. We will hear seven weeks’ worth of the “greatest hits” from Ephesians in all, and today’s verses are central to Paul’s message.

Before getting into this morning’s reading, however, let me begin by summarizing what the letter is all about. Ephesians is concerned with the issue of the inclusion of Gentile converts into a largely Jewish Christian Church, about what accommodations Jewish Christians are called to make on the one hand, and what amendments of life Gentile converts are called to make on the other hand. In other words, it’s about a big ol’ conflict, the resolution to which (according to Paul) will require much from both sides if each is to remain faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The epistle to the Ephesians thus reminds us that even when traditional standards and teachings are being called into question from the inside, and even when strife and conflict result, we are called to remain in community with one another. This is important to remember regardless of which side of an issue we find ourselves, for commitment to each other in community is everyone’s responsibility.

The verses we heard this morning are part of a larger set of instructions on how we are to conduct ourselves when our Church is in conflict. It is here that Paul’s particular emphasis in Ephesians on worship as the source and focus of unity becomes so important in sorting out how we should react when we are upset by the direction we see the Church heading, or alternatively, impatient with the Church’s slowness to respond to our pastoral needs.

Simply put, when the Church’s actions engender anger, hurt, or confusion, we have four possible responses, each of which is addressed by this morning’s lesson from Ephesians. Our options are:

1. Act as if nothing’s changed; that is, live in denial;

2. Accept the change (either grudgingly or willingly);

3. Leave and join another church with whose positions we agree; or

4. Stay connected to our local community of faith, allowing ourselves to be challenged to grow in faith and love as we rely on the Holy Spirit to lead us into all truth, within one Church.

The first option, to act as if nothing’s changed, is untenable for people of faith because to deny a reality that’s staring us in the face is to be dishonest with ourselves, and to avoid pain at the expense of possible growth. As Paul exhorts us, “let all of us speak the truth to our neighbors, for we are members of one another.” The problem with speaking the truth as we understand it, of course, is that other people may not see things quite the same way. And this may—and often does—lead to anger. Paul doesn’t have a problem with our being angry with one another; his concern, as we shall see, is what we do with that anger.

The second option, to accept the change, is always a possibility, and may under some circumstances be either the best we can manage or truly the right thing to do. Quite often, however, an outward attitude of “acceptance” cloaks a pernicious form of passive-aggressive behavior, manifesting itself in grumbling and other actions ranging from the merely unconstructive to the downright destructive. Paul, by contrast, gives us an antidote to this sort of destructive behavior when he writes, “Let no evil talk come out of your mouths, but only what is useful for building up, as there is need, so that your words may give grace to those who hear. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with which you were marked with a seal for the day of redemption.” This emphasis on edification, that is, focusing on what will build up our relationships in Christ in community rather than sabotaging ourselves and others, is so important when we are in conflict.

The third option, to leave, is really the worst of the four, because it tears apart the very community that the truth is supposed to hold together. We are not called to be in community only with those who believe and act as we do. Rather, when we have conflicts, Ephesians tells us to “Be angry but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and do not make room for the devil…Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice…” Every three years, it seems, people use General Convention as a pretext for breaking away from their local communities of faith and from the larger church. But if we walk out on one another, we abdicate our responsibility to participate in God’s work of transforming our lives and our community for the better.

Clearly, I believe we are called to choose the fourth option, to stay connected—in the words of Ephesians to “be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you.” For if we remain connected, there are three things we can do:

First, we can become clearer on what we believe and why we believe it. Without challenging ourselves to come to a deeper understanding of this, we run the risk of stagnating in our faith. Denial, passive acceptance, or leaving all have one thing in common: They effectively make it possible to avoid spiritual growth. And what is the Church about, if not spiritual growth? One of the greatest gifts we can give each other is a safe space in which we can examine our attitudes and preconceived notions. St. Paul’s, I would like to believe, is one of those safe places, where we can ask ourselves: Are all my attitudes truly Christian? Do they manifest the love of Christ for my brothers and sisters in the Church? Or am I merely concerned for myself and my own needs, my own comfort and security?

Second, we can become more aware of why others hold the positions they do, and while recognizing that not all opinions are created equal, we can ask ourselves: What in another person’s approach can I recognize as being rooted in Gospel values? In my disagreements, do I demonize the other person, or am I respectful and loving toward even those whom I see as completely wrong-headed? In other words, do I care more about being right, or being in relationship? This is what Paul means by exhorting us to be “tenderhearted.” The greatest danger in the Church is hard-heartedness, and the devil loves using anxiety, anger, and conflict to harden our hearts.

Third, we can resolve to remain in community, recognizing that it is when we are most in conflict that we need each other the most. It is only by remaining in community that we can keep things in perspective and not be led astray by individualism. Further, it is only by remaining connected to each other that we can make sure our voice is heard in the official institutional structure of the Church. For instance, do you know how to let our bishop know how these decisions affect you? Do you know how to get involved in the decision-making process in the Church? These actions don’t take place in a vacuum, you know. Maybe in these decisions, both those in which we rejoice and those at which we are dismayed, we can hear God calling us to become more engaged, not just with our own, personal faith, but with the faith journey of the entire people of God whom God has gathered together in the Episcopal Church. Even if your call is not to step into the fray of national church politics, your very presence here, week in, week out, can stand as a quiet testimony to your dedication to community, valuing relationships in Christ over those things that threaten to divide us. And let’s have a reality check here, folks: there will always be something to divide us.

Finally, in the midst of these conflicts, don’t forget to pray, pray, pray. And sing. For as we will hear from Ephesians next Sunday, we are called to “be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

© 2009 Nathan Humphrey

Covenanting with Untrustworthy People: Suicide Pact or Resurrection Hope?

My friend Anglocat (who is always on the prowl) asked me a question in a comment over at Jake's place. (Yes, he's back.) My answer, typically, is too long for a comment, so here's a post on it instead. The question was:

[W]e have very little reason to trust in the good faith of the "reasserters" who have systematically tried to usurp TEC's place in the Communion, and its assets in the US (see Jake's links in main post). How can we--and why should we--enter a Covenant that daily looks more and more like a suicide pact for us?

Here is my reply:

Is it fair to summarize your question as "Why should we trust them?"

Here's my stab at it: There will always be trust issues in the Church. Furthermore, who is "Us" and who is "Them" is always changing. In some contexts, I'm an "Us." In others, I'm a "Them." Am I with more trustworthy folks when I agree with one camp or the other? Maybe, maybe not. But when it comes to trust, Scripture (not to mention our US currency, FWIW) is pretty clear on that score. In God We Trust. "Put not your trust in princes," the Psalmist sings. Or in prelates. Or in Covenants. So what is the good of a Covenant (or a prince, or a prelate?) In themselves, not much. As people and institutions through whom we order our relationships, they are only as good as the collective "We" that participates in them or gives their consent to them as authorities. And the collective "We" needs an infusion of divine grace in order to be trustworthy in the first place. That is, it's not about us, or our Covenants, or about what "We" do--or what "They" do. It's about God.

That said, progressives are justified in being wary that this whole Covenant project is booby-trapped. For my part, however, I have come to the conclusion that the Covenant process is the most constructive way for everyone to move forward into deeper relationships with God and each other in Christ within the Anglican Communion. No doubt, some will try to abuse the Covenant in one direction or the other. That's the danger in relationship, after all: that we'll get hurt. And it's much preferable to choose to be in relationship only with those whom we already trust--those who agree with us, who are advocating for our needs and wants, who demonstrate that they like and love us. But the Church is about everyone. Even people you don't trust. It is an act of faith to Covenant with untrustworthy types, not because your faith is in them, but because your faith is in God's redeeming and reconciling grace.

Take the Covenant with Israel, for instance. Were the ragtag People of Israel trustworthy? Heck, no. God was craaaazy to make a Covenant with Israel (or with Noah, that drunkard, or Abraham, that liar). Moses was a stuttering conniving murderer. God associates with very untrustworthy people--and then works through the Covenant to redeem and reconcile them to God's very self, to draw them into the lovelife of God.

So, too, we are called to covenant with all and sundry, even those who are trying to manipulate and abuse and twist the Covenant process, either to the right or to the left, so that their goals are accomplished. (I also take it for granted that people are trying to manipulate it and abuse and twist it out of the sincerest motives and "in good faith," even. People are usually not intentionally or consciously out to Be Evil in Church conflict. I don't wish harm on anyone--except the Dutch, of course--but I know that even in my blogging I've hurt others by not paying sufficient attention to their humanity.) If the purpose of a Covenant, however, is to create conditions under which mutual responsibility, interdependence, and commitment to common discernment are central to our ecclesial life, then both progressives and traditionalists have a strong disincentive to sign on to such a Covenant. Because if they do, they (We) will be stuck with each other!

That's the booby trap in the Covenant. If we sign on to it, we will all be in this together in a way that we are not currently. The bonds of affection are very loose, if not broken or nonexistent right now, and there is nothing out there, including our beloved Baptismal Covenant, that is effectively breaking down the dividing wall of hostility that separates us from each other and separates all of us from experiencing more fully the love of God in Christ. Our Anglican ethos of mutual commitment has been eroded by our conflicts, and the Covenant at its best is intended to repair that mutual commitment to each other.

It doesn't really matter, then, that some people are attracted to the Covenant because they want to use it as a bludgeon. If it's a real Covenant, then that means that those who enter it will be equally responsible to be committed to each other. What this means for the various agendas of either left or right is uncertain: In the current political atmosphere, the left is betting that a Covenant would hinder their agenda, while the right is betting that a Covenant would further theirs, but God has a funny way of turning the tables on both the left and the right if given half a chance. And that's what a Covenant does: it gives God a chance to work in all of our lives at once, rather than only here or only there. I can't say how God will resolve our current conflicts. But I can say that if we trust in God and demonstrate our trust in God through a Covenant, greater things than we can either ask or imagine will happen.

So, for instance, with Gamaliel's counsel in Acts 5:38b-39: "[I]f this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them—in that case you may even be found fighting against God!" If SSBs and all that is of God, then it seems to me that it is better that we all be committed anew to each other in a covenanted life as God works it out than that we should be impatient and untrusting, either of each other or of God, and try to go our own way and do what we're sure is God's will and to hell with the rest of the world.

A Covenant is a way of loving untrustworthy people so that God can work to transform all of us together, in God's good time.

It is (fallen) human nature not to want to be associated with "them." God calls us otherwise.

So, short answer: Don't trust "them," whoever "they" are. Trust God. And ask God, "God, are you calling me to enter into a Covenant with these clowns?

But God is crazy that way. From the perspective of Good Friday, one could say that Jesus had a suicide pact with his Father. But from God's perspective, it was a pact that brought about new life, resurrection joy, and a new Covenant in Christ's Body and Blood.

That's my take on things, off the top of my head, at least.

P.S. I was just kidding about the Dutch. Who could hate the Dutch? My sister married into a Dutch family. I just couldn't resist the allusion to the Austin Powers movie, Goldmember, wherein Nigel Powers (Michael Caine) famously says: "There's only two things I hate in this world. People who are intolerant of other people's cultures...and the Dutch."

P.P.S. The follow-up question, I suppose is: "Why should we exercise the restraint and patience that a Covenanted life would likely require of us in what I believe is a matter of fundamental justice when 'justice delayed is justice denied'?" That would be a good question to ask. But I'll wait for someone to ask it.

Goodbye, "Low" and "High." Hello, "Covenanted" and "Federated"

Granted, "covenanted" and "federated" are not as catchy as "low" and "high," nor as easy to discern from outward appearances, but I believe that these categories, even more than "reappraiser" and "reasserter" accurately maps the fault lines in The Episcopal Church and wider Anglican Communion.

The reason I prefer "covenanted" and "federated" is that it also cuts across the conservative/liberal divide and allows room for moderates on either side. "Covenanted" Anglicans aren't simply those opposed to same-sex unions and the ordination of non-celibate gay people, and "Federated" Anglicans aren't simply those in favor of such practices, though one might expect the majority of people on one or the other side of these issues to end up disproportionately in either camp. Rather, "covenanted" and "federated" has to do with issues of Anglican identity and authority, of how one envisions good church order and discipline, the interplay between interdependence and autonomy, the local and the universal, the ecumenical and the denominational.

These two parties, the Covenanted and the Federated, are still emerging parties, as there is no formal Covenant, yet, and the Anglican Communion and TEC are, at least for the moment, de facto federations. But the two terms do denote the desire of Anglicans to move in one direction or another.

And for now, both covenanted and federated Anglicans live in an uneasy and conflicted coexistence. Rowan Williams is asking us: Can we live like this?