Episcopal Church Is Radically Faithful to Its Tradition

Space does not permit a correction of the numerous factual points I could dispute in Jay Akasie's "What Ails the Episcopalians" (Houses of Worship, July 13). Instead, I offer a spiritual correction.

The church has been captive to the dominant culture, which has rewarded it with power, privilege and prestige for a long, long time. The Episcopal Church is now liberating itself from that, and as the author correctly notes, paying the price. I hardly see paying the price as what ails us. I see it as what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

Many years ago when I was a parish priest in Savannah, a local politician and disaffected Episcopalian began a conversation with me. In that case the subject was homosexuality. It could have been any of the things mentioned last week as our ailments. "I just think the church should not be governed by the culture," he said. I replied that I agreed with him, but that "I just hadn't noticed that the culture was all that hospitable toward gay people." He stammered. "Well, maybe not here in Georgia."

The Episcopal Church is on record as standing by those the culture marginalizes whether that be nonwhite people, female people or gay people. The author calls that political correctness hostile to tradition.

I call it profoundly countercultural but hardly untraditional. In fact, it is deeply true to the tradition of Jesus, Jesus who offended the "traditionalists" of his own day, Jesus who was known to associate with the less than desirable, Jesus who told his followers to seek him among the poor. It is deeply true to the tradition of the Apostle Paul who decried human barriers of race, sex, or status (Galatians 3:28).

What ails the Episcopalians is that this once most-established class of American Christianity is taking the risk to be radically true to its tradition. There is a price to be paid for that. There is also a promise of abundant life in it.

Peace,
+ Stacy

Baits

I spent a lot of weekday afternoons in college trying to organize games at an inner city park in Greenville, South Carolina.  “Park” gives the wrong impression.  It was more of a vacant lot, mostly dirt and lots of trash.  There was an asphalt basketball court complete with rims without nets.  There was no equipment except what we brought with us from school.  But the park did have an abundance of kids with nothing to do. 

One day I was there when it had just rained.  The worms had been brought to the surface.  As long as there’s a God in heaven, kids will be fascinated by worms.  So were these inner city kids, but they did not actually use the word worm at all.  To these little boys playing among the trash, worms were known as baits.  Baits were for catching fish. 

I have never looked at a worm again without remembering that worms are baits, and I have wondered how this applies to what Jesus said about fishing.  I think the point might have something to do with the importance of what things are used for. 

Nothing has much value if it isn’t used for its intended purpose.  Worms don’t have much value to an inner city kid if they aren’t used to catch fish.  Not much else has value if it isn’t used as God intended.  Nor do we, and our intended purpose is to be God’s agents in restoring “all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.”  It is what we do.  It is who we are as baptized people.    

And, it seems to me, if we aren’t using all our resources for that intended purpose, they aren’t of much value, either.  Trust funds and endowments and investments and diocesan commitments and pledges and real estate and parish halls and office buildings and whatever else we have, after all, are only baits.  No matter what fiduciary duties we attach to them, they are only baits.  In fact, our duty is neglected when what we have been entrusted with is not used for its intended purpose, sharing.

Jesus said he intended us to be fishers.  (Mk. 1:17)  I don’t think he meant holding the pole or casting the net, either.  I think he meant us to be baits.  We are, after all, known by what we’re useful for.  And to be useful for their intended purpose, which is to be baits, those first disciples had to leave the nets behind.  I doubt that felt safe or comfortable.  I suspect it felt like no small adventure.  At least I hope it did.  And I’m pretty sure that’s just the way it is with being a disciple, which is what we’re here to be, baits for the reign of God, for God’s reconciling love, for nothing less than the salvation of the world in exactly the same way those kids at the park hooked me.

Peace,

+Stacy

Posted with the permission of Center Aisle