The Hope of the World?

I'd been thinking it was time to release my brilliantly thought-out, definitive statement on the controversies dividing The Episcopal Church, a piece of such stunning clarity and theological perspicuity that all sides in these arguments would immediately realize the error of their party-line toeing ways and gather together around Christ as the true center of the church and let bygones be bygones. I, of course, realize that such a result is beyond unlikely, so I will save that conversation just a bit longer.

However, I did want to bring up something that at least has a little bit to do with our decision to stick things out with TEC, even here in the Diocese of Quincy (Special Synod to respond to General Convention in three weeks! Hooray!), come what may.

Bill Hybels, pastor of Willow Creek Community Church up in the 'burbs, the father of the contemporary megachurch movement (whose place of prominence has been usurped by book-seller Rick Warren), has said something to the effect that the local church is the hope of the world. I used to think there was a lot of truth in that statement, but I'm more and more convinced that there may not be much to such thinking after all.

See, I think the church in general, or the Church, if you will, has a worth infinitely more than the sum of its parts (individual parishes or local congregations). At its best, the Church, no matter the denominational flavor, has deeply understood and accepted this idea. Now, such thinking can definitely be taken to unhealthy extremes, and this has definitely happened at various times in the history of Christianity. But to me, the opposite extreme, complete isolation and "Lone Ranger" ecclesiology, is at least equally hazardous. When a church forgets and/or willfully breaks its ties with other churches in its tradition, it loses its distinctiveness.

Now, I'm not denying the crucial role individual congregations play in engaging the immediate culture of their specific physical location, but to say that the hope of the world lies in these local churches seems to diminish the importance of the mystical union between Christ and his Bride, the church universal. I would argue, and it would seem the New Testament writers at least would agree, that the hope of the world lies in the Church, not the church in your neighborhood (or region, but that's another rant for another time).

Maybe I'm overstating things (it would be far from the first time), but it's just something that concerns me sometimes.

Fathers and Sons

I'll admit it, when I first learned that Sarah was pregnant, I kinda hoped for a girl. I don't know if it was passed on to me by my father, who always wanted a baby girl but had to settle for two sons, or if I just loved the middle name we'd picked for a girl so much, but it was almost a disappointment when the ultrasound showed external plumbing. Almost. See, something happened in the very moment that I first saw my son for what he really was. I can't really explain, but there was an instant connection made, and I knew that God's creation growing inside my wife was good. I was very excited to meet Caleb from that day on throughout the rest of the pregnancy.

Six weeks ago now, we finally met face-to-face. The things about parenting that excite me most (reading, playing, creating together) still lie in the future, but there's an undeniable bond between us already. Maybe I wanted a girl because I was afraid that my inability to rough-house, to do the things I see able-bodied fathers do with their sons, would negatively affect my relationship with a boy. That all seems so inconsequential now, because I know that there is a higher calling in being a father. I don't mean that the relationship between father and son is more important than father/daughter, mother/son, or mother/daughter. All I guess I'm trying to say is that I can instill masculinity, a faithful, humble, complete masculinity, in my son without being able to put him in the figure-four leglock. I don't need to teach him to be "wild at heart" or a "barbarian in the wilderness", either. All he needs from me is love, the kind of love that comes from shared wonder.

I saw a bit of that in him already last night. We went to a baseball game, and afterwards, there was a fireworks show. He was absolutely transfixed, mouth wide open and eyes big enough to take it all in. As he sat in my arms, I felt the same way. Oh, the fireworks were great, but there was something bigger happening. We were sharing wonder, and if he can get that from something as synthetic as a fireworks display, then I can't wait to share Narnia with him. Or Middle-earth. Or the burr oak down on Main Street Hill (he loves trees already). Or The Art Institute of Chicago. Or the ivy on the walls at Wrigley, while we're at it. Or even Grand View Drive back here in the River City.

As he grows, I can't wait to share with him the things I love, the things I wonder at. Mozart. Beethoven. The Flaming Lips. But I'm even more excited to find out those things that he'll discover on his own and share with me. That's why I'm here. To nurture and protect, and discipline and teach him, sure. But that's all just so I can be taught by him. That's what being a father is. And maybe, as we learn from each other, we'll learn a little more about the world around us and the God who creates it for us to enjoy.

The Book of Common Prayer: The less practical (but almost equally important) answer to Why?

It's taken me awhile to really decide how to proceed with this part of the story, and I'm still not completely sure I've got a clear idea, but now seems like the time for writing.

I thought about calling this post "Anglican theology" or "Anglican history" or "I like pretty words" or somesuch thing, but I've realized that all these points can be adequately summarized by talking about the major role the actual Book of Common Prayer has played in our journey to the holy catholic and apostolic church. The BCP contains everything I love about Anglican theology, is itself the penultimate product of Anglican history, and is full of, well, pretty words. The prayers, whether they be collects, the prayers of the people, prayers for special occasions, or the majestic eucharistic prayers, are able to bring me into a sense of God's quiet, terrifying presence in corporate worship in a way that other liturgical and/or praise and worship forms have not. The BCP (especially the 1979 edition) has the Eucharist as its heartbeat, and that's vitally important in my development as a follower of Christ. Whether it was growing up United Methodist, where we didn't celebrate communion every week, or my formative years in the independent Christian Churches, where we did celebrate every week, but usually in a rushed, awkward manner in between the sermon and the offering, I'd been yearning for Holy Communion to be restored to its rightful place (in my opinion) at the center of weekly worship. Needless to say, that's exactly what we found in Episcopal worship.

I particularly love that the BCP's treatment of the Eucharist was born in historical compromise between the Roman Catholics and Protestants in Britain, and is manifested in a crucial theological balancing act between the catholic belief in the real presence of Christ in the elements (a view I've always, albeit sometimes very privately, held) and the protestant understanding of communion as a memorial feast (again, a view I've always held). It seems silly to me to divorce these views from each other, as they both ring true and both seem to have the support of scripture.

I could go on and on about the other ways in which I've come to appreciate the beauty of Anglican compromise, and spend just as much time lamenting the ways in which this specific genius is being ignored in the current battles over Episcopalianism's direction, but then I wouldn't have anything to rant about in future posts.

Suffice it to say for now that it was the combination of the loving community we discovered at Trinity Parish and the amazing theology we discovered in the Book of Common Prayer that convinced us that we should let a bishop squeeze our heads and confirm us as members of The Episcopal Church. Now that we find ourselves in a new church, in a new diocese, there are definitely challenges to that decision, but nonetheless we carry on with our new faith home.