The church as a "public" institution

As I mentioned yesterday, the Diocese of Southern Ohio has a new bishop, and his consecration will be this Saturday. Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori will come to Columbus to take part in the ceremony. So, ever since I knew this event was coming, it has been my intention to attend if at all possible. On Friday, I heard from my rector that there was indeed a ticket being held in my name. So, yay! Well, maybe "yay" isn't quite the right word. I'm pleased that I will be able to attend, and I'm sure I'll be glad I did. But this is going to involve a number of things I *don't* particularly relish--crowds, trying to park at Ohio State, standing for extended periods of time... Probably some incense, now that I think of it. (Wrinkles nose in anticipation) Anyway, knowing that I had this event coming up, I knew couldn't pass up the opportunity to hear the bishop-elect speak at my church last night. And then, actually *having* something a little unique to blog about, I couldn't pass that up either, could I? Tonight I'll share the first part of his talk, in which he addressed what it means for the church to be a public institution. Rev. Breidenthal started by telling us that his most recent position was Dean of Religious Life at Princeton, which he said was a "fancy term for University Chaplain". Most of his work has been as a teacher in one way or another, with students of different ages and situations, and alongside other teachers. Speaking at St. Stephen's Episcopal Church and Univerisity Center, he said that it was a relief to be in a setting where he could say that proudly "without it being assumed that therefore I am unworldly". He noted that the university setting is, in fact, the intersection between many, many communities, where it is impossible to isolate oneself from the "real world". About being "in communion": Communion is not a product of agreement, but has to do with staying at the table, respecting each other's arguments, and having reverence for the basic commitments that bring us together around the altar in the first place. Breidenthal said that it was important for the church to be "public". When the Roman Christians emerged out of the catacombs, the first thing they did was build churches, and they built basilicas. He said these were the Roman version of today's mall--an enclosed forum with room for businesses, shops and vendors all around the edges, and a lot of space in the middle where public disputation could happen. So it is significant that they, once they started to build churches, chose the basilica model, which was basically the agora, or public forum. Where God and God's people were interacting publicly and opening themselves to a world where there was really no reason you couldn't be part of that community as long as you were willing to be baptized. And to be baptized wasn't to enter a community, it was to be expelled from any community that was exclusive. We tend to think of baptism as inclusion, but in fact, the primary metaphor of baptism is birth, and birth is about expulsion into something large and scary...and public. And so, the early Christians at their best--they were able to be as crabby and exclusive as we are--but at their *best*, they understood the Gospel to be utterly practical to the world. And they understood the church, not primarily as a refuge, as a place of withdrawal from the world and safety from the world, but they viewed the church as a people in exodus--in exodus out of all of their exclusive and closed communities. This is what it meant to define ourselves as a people who included all people, without exception. That every possible non-universal identity was transcended by membership in the church. So, one reason why I think that campus ministry, and churches that have strong and intentional campus ministries, why that's so important, is because the university recalls the church through its initial public witness. And parishes like St. Stephen's help remind other parishes that may be in danger of becoming *just* extended families, that however small or suburban they may be, they are, each of them, a gateway into the whole world. I like to think of going to church as not going inside, but actually going through the doors into something outside. More to come, as I find the time, on topics such as ecumenism and interfaith relations--the hard, but necessary work of coming together, respectfully, in our diversity.

The Bishop!

(The Bishop was the title of a classic Monty Python sketch, and, in this household, anyway, it's hard to talk about a bishop without getting this in my head!) A week from today, the Rev. Thomas E. Breidenthal will be consecrated as the ninth bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Southern Ohio. I just found out yesterday that I have received a ticket and will be attending the ceremony. It's weird to think how long we have been anticipating a new bishop. Our previous bishop, the Rev. Herbert Thompson, Jr., retired in December or 2005, and died unexpectedly on a trip to Italy in August of 2006. But before he retired in 2005, the diocese had begun the process of selecting his successor, but that process was halted due to a moratorium on electing any new bishops. That moratorium was put in place (as I recall) in reaction to the response of some to the consecration of Bishop Gene Robinson as the first openly gay bishop in the Episcopal Church. I have not yet met our bishop-elect, but I've been learning a bit about him. Some sermons he gave as Dean of Religious Life at Princeton can be found here. I also know that he has written a book: Sacred Unions: A New Guide to Lifelong Commitment I haven't read it yet, but I'm intrigued by this description Sacred Unions is a book about true love. By true love—or romance—the author refers to sexual passion that deepens into the permanent union of two persons in heart, body, and mind. The book is therefore addressed to all true lovers: straight or gay, deep into the adventure of a shared life or just contemplating it, or emerging out of a failed attempt. Lifelong union, Breidenthal asserts, is of central importance in all circumstances; and it remains a viable option for all of us, no matter who we are or what our story is. It occurs to me that there is something a bit...poetic, maybe, about this. The reason we had to wait so long for our new bishop in the first place, is that a moratorium was put in place because of the way some people reacted to Gene Robinson's election and consecration. Just now, I'm reminded of what Bishop Robinson said about the Holy Spirit in his sermon during last summer's General Convention. It's that part of God which refuses to be contained and confined to the little boxes we create for God to live in--safely confined to the careful boundaries *we* set for the Holy Spirit. The problem is, and the miracle is, and the gift is, God just won't stay put! And God won't let you or me stay put, content to believe what we've always believed, what we've always been taught, what we've always assumed. But change is not just something to be wished upon our enemies, but it is something God requires of us as well. When the General Convention came to town last summer, I was working days and was thus unable to attend any of the actual convention, but made it to a couple of "off campus events" like the Integrity Eucharist where Gene Robinson gave the sermon I excerpted above and the U2Charist (see Bishop Michael Curry's sermon here.) I knew nothing about the candidates who were being considered for Presiding Bishop, but once Katharine Jefferts Schori was elected and I started to learn more about her, I was quite pleased. That worked out really well, you know? We got a great bishop, who just happens to also be the first woman to become Presiding Bishop of the national church, but, since I wasn't paying close attention *before* the election, I was spared any nailbiting anxiety/anticipation. And, as far as I can tell, something similar happened with the election of Thomas Breidenthal. I even went so far as to download the audio of a forum where all the candidates spoke, so I could learn a bit about them, but never got around to listening to it. I wryly remarked to someone yesterday that elections seem to turn out better when I don't get emotionally invested in them until after the fact. Nah...I'm not really that superstitious. Maybe it was just the Holy Spirit, doing what the Holy Spirit does. And/or wise, strong people on the search committee, able to resist any pressure to go with a more conservative choice. However these things happen, I'm looking forward to hearing our bishop-elect speak at my church this evening.

Now *that's* what I call good news!

Last night I attended something called "Soup and Study" at my progressive Episcopal church. How progressive? One day last summer, I was talking to two women I hadn't seen there before. This was during coffee-and-donut time after church one day while the General Convention was going on last June, so I asked if that's what they were in town for. One of them responded, no, they had just moved to the area and were looking for a church. They found us by doing a Google search for "gay Episcopal church", and there we were. That made me smile--yep, that would be us. And yet that's now how I think about my church most of the time. It just happens to be one of the bi-products of a church that practices an "open table" where we strive to welcome everyone as they are--doubts, questions, and all, "wherever they are on life's journey". So, I feel good about belonging to a church like that. I feel lucky to have found such a place. And I feel sad that some people don't even know to long for such a place, because it's never dawned on them that it could exist. That really struck home for me when I was listening to Tanya Erzen last night, as she shared some of the research she did in an "ex-gay" ministry, culminating in her book Straight to Jesus. One thing that she really emphasized was that many of the men she met in that program describe their transformations as a religious process rather than one of sexual conversion. Based on their past experiences, often in conservative/fundamentalist type churches, they were convinced that a positive gay identity and a relationship with God were mutually exclusive. From an article that appeared in Salon last year: Without exception, the men (and a few women, though New Hope only admits men) who sign up for this perceive a fundamental, irresolvable contradiction between their Christian faith and their homosexual orientation. The article also goes on to say, What they all seem to have experienced was rejection from the churches and communities they grew up in, which explains their mistrust of the Christian right. "Most of them can't handle the truth," one man told Erzen. "If you're in the church and you're a drug addict, murderer, whatever, guys will come up to you and slap you on the ass. But if you state that you struggle with homosexuality, you get the whole pew to yourself." Some of the men at New Hope had asked their fellow congregants for help and prayers, only to be shunned or told they were possessed by demons. Some didn't dare to speak of it at all. It really is sad. And, as I started to write up some of what Dr. Erzen shared last night, I could already imagine what some people might say--well, that's the trouble with organized religion. But it doesn't *have* to be that way. And I can't help but think of the pain that some of these people might have been spared, if only... With that in mind, I'd like to share part of a sermon I read today. It's by Louis Crew, the founder of Integrity (which, for anyone who is not aware, is the Episcopalian GLBT organization). It ends with this story, When Ernest Clay and I married thirty-three years ago, I wrote my parents and told them about him. They wrote back saying they were happy for us but asked me not to bring him home to visit. “We are old,” they said, “and while most of our friends would remain our friends, we don’t want to put them to the test. We have to live here, and you don’t. But we hope you will continue to come to visit us on your own.” I showed the letter to Ernest. He smiled when he had finished, but said nothing. “Well, get your things. We’re driving to see them. It’s only 250 miles and we’ll be there before bed time.” “Didn’t you read the letter?” he asked. “They wrote that only because they don’t know you yet. When Dad sees how gentle you are, just like Mother, he will fall in love with you; and when Mother sees….” “Louie, you’re going to see them, but I am not. I respect their wishes. They have a right to their quiet retirement. “And you’re going to see them, because if you don’t, something very important in you will die. You are able to love me because they loved you. In that way, I get the best of both worlds: I have a good husband and I don’t have to spend time with my in-laws.” “But….,” “No but’s about it,” he said. I sulked, but I went. After several visits, my father said, “Son, I don’t want to hurt you but I probably will because I don’t know how to talk about it except as a man of my generation, a son of one of the poorest counties in Alabama. “I don’t understand how flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood could live with a black man as with an equal. At first I thought you might have chosen a black man so that you could feel superior, and I knew that could not be healthy for either of you. Then I feared you might think yourself as inferior because of being gay, and therefore chose a black man. Yet I have listened and listened and I have found no evidence that either has happened. “And Son, something about you has changed. I loved you before you were ever born. I remember seeing you in the maternity ward with one foot out from under the cover the way I sleep, the way your grandfather slept, the way your great grandfather slept. I remember my joy the first time that I heard in your laugh your mother’s laugh. But son, up until now, something about you has always been incomplete. That’s not so anymore. I am not ready yet to meet Ernest, but you must go home and tell him that I love him, because he has given my son back to me whole.” We often were amused that neither set of parents could recognize us when we answered the phone. Apparently we have the same answering style. Six years into our marriage, I answered and Dad said, “I’d like to speak to my son, please.” “Dad,” I am your son, I laughed. “No, Louie, I want to speak to my other son.” This one’s for you, I whispered. He told Ernest, “We are Christians, but we have not behaved like Christians. Will you forgive us, and will you and Louie come spend this weekend with us. We have invited all our friends to come and meet you.” I believe in the Holy Spirit. I have seen the Holy Spirit happen. I know that's a long excerpt, but there really is a lot more to the sermon, and I recommend reading the whole thing. Especially if you're interested in learning more about the current issues faced by the Epicopal church. But the story above brought tears to my eyes today, and I thought, "This is exactly what it looks like when the Spirit is at work in people's lives. At the beginning of this post I mentioned the General Convention, which took place in Columbus last June. It was during that week that I attended the Integrity Eucharist, and had the opportunity to hear Bishop Gene Robinson preach. Here's what he had to say about the Holy Spirit It's that part of God which refuses to be contained and confined to the little boxes we create for God to live in--safely confined to the careful boundaries *we* set for the Holy Spirit. The problem is, and the miracle is, and the gift is, God just won't stay put! And God won't let you or me stay put, content to believe what we've always believed, what we've always been taught, what we've always assumed. But change is not just something to be wished upon our enemies, but it is something God requires of us as well. You can read the rest of Bishop Robinson's sermon here. One thing I've heard a number of times is that the good news Jesus taught was good news for the poor, the outcast, and the disenfranchised. It didn't sound like such good news to the political and religious leaders of the day. Two thousand years later, things don't seem to have changed much in that regard.