One denomination that's been on my mind for some time is the Anglican Church in North America. This is the denomination that was formed when the Episcopal Church in the US split over issues of women's ordination and human sexuality. It was a very contentious split, and one which left behind much pain on both sides of the divide. ACNA now has its own bishops, priests, and congregations, including one about 5 min from where I live.
After Pope Francis's visit to the US, I found myself once again considering ACNA. Pope Francis and I also differ on several major issues of great importance to me; however, I sat watching his addresses and homilies with joy swelling in my heart. His message filled me with hope even in this broken world, and I found deep agreement with him as a Christian who strives to follow Christ. (And that Fiat- adorable).
Also, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the head of the global Anglican Communion of which the Episcopal Church is a part, has announced that he will host a meeting of all the primates (heads of church) in the Communion to discuss our deepening divides in January. This meeting will likely be a tense one, as the Episcopal Church in the US is quite far from the global Anglican Churches of Africa and South America (among others), in so many ways. (For more on the global Anglican Communion, here is a recent article in The Atlantic).
So, this morning I felt moved to worship with my local Anglican (ACNA) community. When I arrived, I realized I was more nervous than I had anticipated; I often go to church by myself, but now I was going to a church which had split from the church which was about to ordain me. These were my very close brothers and sisters with whom harsh words had been exchanged, with whom the divide had grown so wide that relationship had to be dissolved, property had to be litigated, and vitriol had erupted on both sides.
Upon entering the church, I was greeted kindly by the ushers and offered a name tag. Everyone was wearing name tags, which allowed each person I met to greet me by name (note to self: remember this for future hospitality). They had even roped off the back 3/4s of the pews in the large sanctuary they're borrowing from the Seventh Day Adventists, forcing everyone to sit in the first 10 or so (also, note taken). More people came in, and all seemed to be excited to see me and made a point to speak to me; I hope I didn't disappoint their hopes of getting a new member too much. :)
The service itself was, for me, a strange mix of the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer and the praise music/theology from the church of my childhood, all woven together anew.
The sermon focused on two texts, Genesis 2:4-25 and Matthew 19:3-6. This passage from Genesis tells the story of God creating man and woman, and Matthew deals with the issue of divorce ("what God has joined together, let no one separate"). These are two tough passages, and the Genesis passage in particular has been used to speak against same-sex marriage and relationship, one of the very contentious issues which drove the divide so deep between the ANCA and the Episcopal Church. As soon as I heard them read I thought, "Ok, here we go."
And I was not to be disappointed. Nor surprised, in truth- the priest spoke of marriage, human sexuality, and divorce in all the ways I expected him to as an ACNA priest. What interested me more was my reaction to it; I felt the hardness grow in my chest, as I mentally responded to each statement with "Nope. That's not really it in the Hebrew" or just with a general internal groan. I really couldn't have disagreed with him more, based on my understanding of Scripture, reason, and tradition (our Anglican three-legged stool). All three of them.
I found myself yearning for the table; I thought, let's stop talking and get to the Eucharist. There I know we have one bread, one cup. There's the salvation; there's the common ground. And so as we moved into Holy Communion, I found the hardness and sense of "rightness" within myself relaxing enough for me to look at it more clearly. I reminded myself of something my seminary professor said: "There's a wrong way to be right." And as I confessed my sins, I felt compelled to confess my hardness of heart. My sense of right. My ego-driven need to dissect everything he preached, everything these folks believe just as deeply as I hold my own beliefs.
As we read the Prayers of the People, this line stuck out to me: "Lord, help us to minister thy grace to one another."
In that sanctuary, I was struck by how incredibly difficult it is that we are called to bring God's grace, which has been freely given to us, to one another. And in that congregation of very kind, faithful, and genuine people with whom I deeply disagree I found it was only God's grace which held it all together. It was only God's grace which brought me there, and it was God's grace which kept me there in all my discomfort. It was God's grace which pointed out to me that when I pray for my enemies, I am usually praying for them to agree with me at some future date. That when I pray for Christian unity, I am praying for conformity to my opinion. That I am just as guilty of making God in my own image as my brothers and sisters who I decry for the same offense.
I came forward with the congregation, hands open and outstretched, and received the body of Christ. That body of Christ which is present to us in the sacrament, and which is also real and present to us in the people of God, the people which surrounded me. Their fervent prayers and mine mingled together and were heard by the same God, the same God which appeared to our ancestors and in Jesus Christ.
As we departed, the priest and I shook hands and he asked me what brought me to the church. I explained that I was soon to be ordained as an Episcopal priest, and he asked, "So, was this your flavor of Episcopalian, or not?" "Oh, no. Not at all," I responded with a laugh. He laughed too, and said "Well, thanks for not walking out during the sermon!" I thanked him for having me, and we spoke briefly of grace as our uniting tie in God. He said, "You've been so kind to us!" and I said, "Thank you for being so hospitable; I have a lot to learn from you all!"
We were honest with one another, and laughed at how much we disagreed. There was no resolution of belief, and we'll still probably show up to all the same protests on different sides of the picket line. But we dwelt on grace. We dwelt on communion with one another, because of the God who created us all. It seems that God never intended for us to all get along anyway, if the Scriptures are any indication; we humans have been fighting with each other for as long as our oldest stories can recount. This motley group of humans is what we have to work with, and if there's anything that Genesis text teaches us, it's that God's favorite materials for new creation seem to be chaos and dirt. What a strange and beautiful God we all serve.
We parted after several of my "new friends" desperately tried to get me to coffee hour, and invited me to come back anytime. I am thankful for each of them, who remind me of my own hypocrisy and hardness of heart to those who are different from me, and for our mutual grace towards one another as Anglicans committed to following a Christ who leads us into places of discomfort and hope. And I pray for our upcoming meeting of Anglican primates, that the grace of God may be shared abundantly by all participants.
Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is
hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where
there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where
there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where
there is sadness, joy.
Grant that we may not so much seek to
be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is
in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we
are born to eternal life. Amen.
Prayer attributed to St. Francis
Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby (from The Atlantic)
