For over two years now we’ve had a High Mass at 11am (and a Solemn High Mass when all the dramatis personae are present).  The High Mass is a completely new addition that has welcomed a congregation all its own – mostly visitors.  For two years there has been a steady and growing ‘High Mass’ congregation in the parish.  But today, something was off.  And it was today during the celebration that something I knew theologically in my head beat true in my heart.

Worship is our joyful obligation of sacrifice and praise.  Done right, it shouldn’t matter if there are 2 or two thousand in attendance.  By the way, this is not the Sunday evening rationalization of a priest shocked by attendance this morning at of one his services.  Two weeks ago we welcomed our Diocesan Bishop with all the splendor and honor we could afford.  We had 17 confirmations, 2 receptions from the Coptic Orthodox Church, and 6 baptisms (4 of whom were adults).  We did this at 11am – a Pontifical High Mass.  It was beautiful, full, and ethereal.  I felt the same thing today.  Honest.  I did.

The difference between liturgical worship and contemporary trends is that liturgical worship does not need a critical mass other than 2.  I’m not sure the same could be said for ‘praise and worship.’  Worship designed to reflect the feel and movement of a concert needs to have the same critical mass as a concert.  Worship designed to reflect the feel and movement of a motivational speaker needs to have the same critical mass to be, well, motivational.  But when the object of worship and focus is Christ’s presence in the Sacrament, the same honor and ceremony reserved for a Pontifical Visitation with tons of confirmations and baptisms is joyfully offered the same for ‘two or three gathered in his name.’  That’s all the critical mass we need.  2 or 3.

At daily mass there is a congregation of 5-8 Monday through Thursday.  That service is the same as Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve.  It truly is.  This is why I think fidelity to the Book of Common Prayer is so important, especially in these changing times.  Staying with the Prayer Book keeps our focus on ‘the thing itself.’  As we explore new and exciting opportunities for missional activity, I strongly think the grounding is in worship – liturgical worship.  Imagine the missional opportunities when the same acts that inspire awe in St Peter’s Basilica or Westminster Abbey could be reflected in places large and small everywhere.  2 or 3.  That’s all the critical mass we need.  That’s all the crucial Mass we need.

PS: If you usually come to 11am – see you Sunday!

I have been quite slow to the conversation surrounding Amendment One in North Carolina.  For that matter, I’ve remained relatively silent on most matters of current debate in the Episcopal Church, namely human sexuality.  There has been something wholly unsatisfying about the conversation and I think I just now understand why.  First of all, in a tradition that tends to shy away from dualistic thinking (after all we are the via media!) the conversation about same-sex unions, blessings, marriages, the ordination of gays and lesbians, etc., tends to be decidedly dualistic.  It’s either yes or no.   Not that I’m against yes’s or no’s – after all I crave consistency, order and logic.  But the yes’s and no’s in the current conversation do not seem, at least to me, to address the real question.

I think it’s all about sex.  I’m not talking about straight sex or gay sex, I’m not talking orientation and the role of those who identity as either straight or gay.  I’m just talking sex without any qualifiers.  On this most basic, creative, and potentially destructive gift I am not sure we have a clear and cogent theology.  I think we are clear that sex is a gift from God. But for what purpose?  I am also beginning to think that the impetus for this theological confusion is the lack of sustained theological conversation after the introduction of artificial birth control.

Neat, but incomplete

If we were to adopt a purely Roman position (which is tempting for its consistency, order and logic), sex would be for procreation only.  Therefore it is to be manifest only in the confines of marriage between man and woman.  Even elderly couples who marry can fit in this scheme, even though procreation is not probable it is still possible (see Abraham/Sarah, Zechariah/Elizabeth).  Birth control is no longer an option because it thwarts the whole point of the sexual act – the procreation of children.  It fits and is neat.

But there seem to be two problems.  The first is the witness of both the Anglican Communion and the Eastern Orthodox Church, which pastorally (though in varying degrees) allows the use of birth control.  For Anglicans, the issue was addressed as early as the 1930 Lambeth Conference with Resolution 15 that “in those cases where there is such a clearly felt moral obligation to limit or avoid parenthood, and where there is a morally sound reason for avoiding complete abstinence, the Conference agrees that other methods may be used, provided that this is done in the light of the same Christian principles.”  It goes on to strongly condemn contraception for “motives of selfishness, luxury, or mere convenience.”  Bishop Charles Gore, then of Oxford, wrote a pamphlet after the 1930 Lambeth Conference highlighting the theological problem with birth control as the separation of sex into two purposes – one for procreation and one for gratification.  The original purpose, he argues, is mutual joy in the act of creation.  The fathers of Lambeth cracked open the door for two purposes of sex and did so with great hesitation.   In 1994 the General Convention of the Episcopal Church reaffirmed the role of birth control/family planning in relationship to population growth.  That same resolution also reaffirmed the 1930 resolution of Lambeth Conference.  One wonders if the deputies had that text in front of them.  Something tells me no.  In any case, for 80 years the Anglican tradition has acknowledged through legislation a dual purpose for sex.  I’m not necessarily denying a dual purpose, but I am saying that a thorough theological treatment (in lieu of a legislative one) has been absent.

The other issue involves the pastoral understanding that sexual intimacy is an expression of mutual love, even if procreation is not the intent.  As said above, the possibility may still exist even though the probability is doubtful, but doesn’t that in some ways meet the letter but not the spirit?  As married couples become ‘one flesh,’ isn’t there a role for sexual intimacy outside the aim of parenthood?

It is not my goal to answer or even argue these questions fully.  But I think we can look at the trajectory from 1930/1960 and perhaps our collective lack in addressing the implications in this change in our understanding of the purpose of sex that has led us to our current division.  We are arguing and dividing over the nature and role of homosexual persons and unions when we should be talking about sex, period.

A different conversation

Pope John Paul II once said that the problem with pornography is not that it reveals too much, but that it reveals too little.  Sex has become an end in itself and therefore for nothing.  When it’s for nothing, it can be for anything.

If we are able to redirect the conversation back to the purpose of sex (whatever that is), then we are not demonizing or demoralizing other people.  We are not talking about gay people or straight people.

Perhaps an example:  Two friends can love each other deeply.  They can share hopes and dreams.  They can live in community and offer mutual support.  Notice I didn’t say two friends of the same gender or different gender.  Why?  Because it doesn’t matter.  I wonder, and I may be wrong, if the current issue on homosexual/heterosexual relationships is not so much about who can love whom, but what is the role of sex in any relationship.

Throw sex between any two people and the relationship is profoundly different.  Something with that much power cannot be ignored or minimized.  Half of all marriages end in divorce.  Pornography is a multi-billion dollar industry.  Parents of middle school-ers are worried about their tweens ‘sexting.’  We have a sex problem – I don’t think we know what it (sex) is for.

When we, perhaps properly so, opened the purpose of sex to something beyond procreation, I don’t think we understood the logical progression.  If sex is now also for gratification – then where are the boundaries?  What are the rules?  Our failure to do so has allowed, even promoted, sex to be an end and not a means.  We need to spend time, not a triennium or a committee, to discern a means to what?

I think the Lambeth Fathers in 1930 were on to something.  A door has been opened and more than they even thought was entered.  One does not have to pass judgment on what has entered to be able to say that it was more than anticipated.  We have a lot of ground to catch up.  We need conversations on the creative image of God that is all of us.  We need conversations about self-control and virtue.  We need conversations on holy relationships and not using people as a means to something else.

My parents didn’t talk to me about it.  Heaven knows my church didn’t.  7^th grade biology didn’t cover the important, spiritual part.  If we want to move beyond current divisions we must go back to forfeited conversations.  We have to talk about sex.

But he is often quoted.  In Welcome to the Episcopal Church, Fr. Webber mentions Hooker in saying “Hooker says that Christians should look for guidance not from the pope or simply from the Bible, but from Scripture, tradition, and reason.  We begin with Scripture, learn what the church has traditionally taught, and use our minds to understand.  These three work together to give Anglicans a balanced approach to understanding the faith of the church.” (page 71)  He then goes on to reference the ubiquitous ‘three –legged stool’ or scripture, tradition, and reason.

I doubt Hooker would recognize this.  At the beginning of Book V, Hooker is concerned with the external function of religion.  He writes in favor of virtue and against superstition.  He then addresses “four general propositions, demanding that which may reasonably be granted, concerning matters of outward form in the exercise of true Religion” (page 9).  The famous passage dealing with scripture, reason and tradition is found in the third proposition.  The context of this question is important.  Hooker writes:
“It is not for a man which doth know or should know what order is, and what peaceable government requireth, to ask, ‘why should we hang our judgment upon the Church’s sleeve;’ and ‘why in matters of order, more than in matters of doctrine.’  The Church hath authority to establish that for an order at one time, which at another time it may abolish, and in both it may do well.  But that in which doctrine the Church doth now deliver rightly as a truth, no man will say that it may hereafter recall, and as rightly avouch the contrary.  Laws touching matter or order are changeable, by the power of the Church; articles concerning doctrine not so.” (Page 30, emphasis mine)

This is the context in which Hooker wrote “Be it in matter of the one kind or of the other, what Scripture doth plainly deliver, to that the first place both of credit and obedience is due; the next whereunto is whatsoever any man can necessarily conclude by force of reason; after these the voice of the Church succeedeth.  That which the Church by her ecclesiastical authority shall probably think and define to be true or good, must in congruity or reason overrule all over inferior judgments whatsoever.” (page 31)

Is Hooker not referring to those questions of order and not doctrine?  In the face of Puritan opposition and in defense of the episcopacy, Hooker is arguing for an honest reading of the Bible first, then the gift of intellectual honesty, followed by the corporate witness of the Church (because, as Hooker says, “two are better than one”).  He is not arguing that we form doctrine based on equal parts scripture, tradition and reason.  Doctrine, as Newman said, may be developed, but it cannot be changed.  This is why the three-legged stool, while in some ways helpful to those from ‘sola’ backgrounds, is ultimately misleading.

As we address the major issues facing the Episcopal Church today (human sexuality, communion without baptism, etc.), we need to engage the father of Anglican thought.  But we must do so with what he actually said.  We must understand what is order (changeable) and what is doctrine (established).  We need to approach Hooker’s triad to order as triage – scripture first, reason second, the voice of the Church third.  But let us also remember that he is not light on the Church – “The bare consent of the whole Church should itself in these things stop their mouths, who living under it, dare presume to bark against it” (page 31)

His wisdom has helped Anglicanism navigate interesting times.  It will do so again.

I had a dream Sunday evening that I was sitting in a room with church-folk (priests, bishops, etc – I don’t remember who or what exactly).  There was a large piece of paper in the middle and a black marker.  Someone looked to me and said, “What do you have to say?”  I wrote in the upper left corner “Apologetics, Liturgy.”  I’m not sure what the dream meant and I will be the first to say that I had chips, salsa and a brownie right before I went to bed, but I’m taking it to mean I feel called to add my voice to larger conversation involving the direction and mission of the Episcopal Church.  My voice is not special, but I feel called to share it nonetheless.  In my sermon Sunday, I encouraged us to ask God “What will you have me do?”  I need to practice what I preach.

So, Theologia Habitus Est will still be my blog (and it’s always been my blog, not an official arm or any other appendage of St Timothy’s).  I don’t intend to post anything absurd or strange, but the focus will be broader than before.  I cherish the relationship we have in these online conversations and wanted to give you a heads up.  Personally I am protective of my in-box and try to keep it free from clutter.  I hope you will continue to subscribe to my posts and engage in the conversation.  But, as my daughter Abby said on evening at the dinner table, “Daddy, that’s the most boring thing I’ve ever heard,” – you won’t hurt my feelings if you unsubscribe (I don’t look to see who subscribes or unsubscribes anyway!).  You can do so at the bottom of the email.

Always yours,
Fr. Steve

Believe it or not, most people can sing.  A 2008 study by Polish researchers tested the singing ability of the general public – that is – non-musicians.  Out of 42 subjects, 40 were able to match pitch and follow musical timing.  Only 2 could not.  So if we have 168 voices at the 9am mass, statistically only 8 might have a legitimate problem singing.  I know what you’re thinking – I’m in the 8!  If 95% of us can sing or can be taught to sing, then why, the study asked, do most of us swear we can’t?

Christin and I blame American Idol.  Virtually every single person who has said they cannot carry a tune in a bucket has been told by someone at sometime that they can’t sing.  This was probably done in public and we swore that would never happen again.  Most watch American Idol in the beginning to see how bad people sing and what mean-spirited thing Simon Cowell (or whoever the hosts are now) will say.  It’s schadenfreude.  Deep down, however, we don’t want to be embarrassed either.

The result is that church music suffers.  Chances are you can sing.  You may need some help identifying pitch or reading music, but that’s what choirs and education are for!  Part of our Christian identity is to sing.  The biggest chunk of the Bible is a song book.  It’s who we are.

I don’t care what Simon or your pew mate might say.  Sing.  Chant.

Surprise yourself.

The universal practice of the catholic Church has been to give communion only to those who have been baptized, not to be exclusionary or elitist, but because both the sacraments of baptism and the Eucharist have been and are taken seriously.  To change the practice, in my opinion, not only reduces the significance of the sacraments, but also substitutes artificial hospitality for a real one.

The arguments for giving communion to the unbaptized include engaging in radical welcome and the inclusive love of Jesus who died for the sake of the whole world.  It’s hard to argue with that.    It seems to me that if proponents of communion without baptism believe that the unbaptized can receive grace for a deeper relationship with God by receiving the Eucharist, then they must believe in an objective presence of Christ in the Eucharist – which I’m all for.  I assume they believe in the objective presence of Christ because it wouldn’t make sense to administer the sacrament to someone who has no real concept of what they are receiving unless there is grace that is independent of understanding.

What happens if someone receives the substantial presence of Christ in the bread and wine but has not been initiated into his death and resurrection?  Can we receive his body without first being a part of it?  The sacraments do something.  They are indeed signs but not only signs.  That’s the difference between a sign and a symbol.  A symbol points to something.  A sacrament makes that ‘something’ present.

Say we are a sports team, pick the sport, it doesn’t matter.  We have been initiated into the team.  We’ve learned the rules and practice daily to be the best we can be.  At each game our coach gives us our team jersey.  Our jersey identifies us as members of the team, as teammates.  Imagine then, if one day everyone who showed up to a game was given the same jersey and were invited to wear it.  The people who come are interested in the sport, maybe even would like to play.  Let’s say the jersey granted them access to the field or court and they were able to play along with the other players.  They were now a part of the team but didn’t really know the rules, had not practiced, and were not as committed as the original teammates.  Those wearing the jersey from the stands aren’t prepared to play.  What does that jersey mean now?  The value is cheapened.  It seems like a good idea, but in practice, it weakens everyone.

Every analogy breaks down at some point, but think about the connection between baptism and the Eucharist.  If everyone who comes to worship – and all are welcome – are given the Eucharist without initiation, not everyone is invested in the sacrament.

The issue about communion without baptism is as much about baptism as it is about the Holy Eucharist.  Baptism, as a sacrament, makes present a divine reality.  If initiation into Christ’s Body is not a condition to partake in his Body, then why even baptize?  What then happens to our baptismal covenant?  What happens to our identity and our mission?

The rarely used Exhortation in the Book of Common Prayer reminds us that “the benefit (of the Eucharist) is great, if with penitent hearts and living faith we receive the holy Sacrament, so is the danger great, if we receive it improperly, not recognizing the Lord’s Body.”

The prayer after baptism thanks the Father that in baptism the newly baptized has received the forgiveness of sin, raised to the new life of grace and given a spirit to know and love him.  As Aquinas said, we are infused with the theological virtues of faith (spirit to know), hope (new life in grace) and love (spirit to love).  Throughout life, these virtues are perfected in us by the grace we receive in the Sacrament of his Body and Blood.  If someone comes to worship truly seeking God, should we not prepare them to truly receive him?  Should we not include them and make them vital members of the body by grafting them into the Body and then join with them in offering the sacrifice of New Life?  Isn’t that true hospitality – to show them the fullness of life?

Offering anything less than that is to offer something, well, less.

Just this week, Advent III, required a fair amount of time to understand what is done on which day, according to Western tradition.  For instance, all days in Advent are special in their own right, but we also had feast days of St Lucy and three Ember Days (Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday).  I even print out cards for the Daily Office and Daily Mass to help (me) those in knowing what to say on which day.  There’s a sharp pain behind my left eye just writing about it.

Why do all this?  Why care about the traditional patterns and rules of worship each day?  Isn’t this following the rules of man instead of the commandments of God (as Jesus accused some of doing)?  Isn’t it a waste of time?  Obviously I don’t think so – or else I wouldn’t do it.

Keeping these traditions alive promotes an intentionality that is powerful in daily prayer.  Our Abraham Project interns (and this has been a joy to observe) no longer need their Prayer Books for the Daily Office except to pray the psalms.  They know the order, the canticles, and the prayers by heart.  Even tonight, someone said something about working or watching, and two interns immediately said “or weep!”.  They know the prayer for mission at Evensong that prays for those who “work or watch or weep this night.”  It becomes a rhythm that is involuntary – automatic.

The traditional forms and rules of daily worship make each day special in at least two ways: it keeps each day common, that is, the order and major components of the service are the same and they can be memorized.  It gives the sense of perpetuating an echo that was started hundreds and hundreds of years ago.  At the same time it also makes each day uncommon.  You pay attention to the nuanced antiphon before the psalm and meditate on how it connects to the season of the feast of that day.  Each day, even with the slightest alteration, teaches and forms.

Maybe this is not unlike good cooking.  A great meal always takes longer to prepare than to eat.  There is a difference between a meal that was made from scratch with hands that have made thousands of meals and a meal that comes in a paper bag handed through a window.  Both are food and both nourish the body, yes.  But one nourishes more than just the body.  A good meal prepared is an event that is remembered, appreciated, loved, and shared.

That’s good liturgy.  It takes longer to prepare than to celebrate.  But you can almost taste the difference it makes.