Saturday, June 20, 2015

On Learning to Apologize, or, How the Body Welcomed Me Home

Have you ever walked around a city with a shirt saying, "I'm sorry"?

Let me tell you, it's a strange experience.

A few weeks ago, I got an invitation in my e-mail to participate in an "I'm Sorry" event at the West Michigan Pride festival in Grand Rapids. I get all kinds of strange invitations to things, so I took this one rather skeptically and did some digging.

I eventually came across this picture:

Photo Credit: Michelle at Maladjusted Media

I had a feeling that this event might actually be on to something.

I dug around a bit more and decided that this was the sort of thing I wanted to be a part of. To be honest, I didn't even know Grand Rapids had a Pride event at all (much to my chagrin). I e-mailed the organizer of the local "I'm Sorry" campaign and put out a sign-up sheet at my parish.

When I woke up this morning, I had no idea what to expect. The Rev. John Edwin Infante Pinzon, a deacon in the Episcopal Diocese of Colombia is here staying with me and I asked if he wanted to join me. He was very enthusiastic. So we donned our clericals and headed to downtown Grand Rapids.

We met up with the handful of others who were there—including a Facebook friend who occasionally shows up at my parish with his husband—and were given our "I'm Sorry" t-shirts. I put it on over my clericals and settled in for the next few hours.

Let me tell you a bit of what grace looks like.

There is a couple of young women walking toward me. They see a group outside the gates of the Pride event holding signs and look at us rather sideways. They are as skeptical as I was. Then they read the first sign, "God is love." They read the second, "I'm sorry the church has hurt you." They see the one I am holding, in my clerical collar, t-shirt over top, "I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

The pace slows and the two women look at me. One of them has tears well up in her eyes as she mouths, "Thank you."

I smile and say, "I really am sorry. Thank you for who you are. I love you."

And then they move on.

This, beloved, is what grace looks like. Over and over again, people stopping, asking if they can take pictures. A few asked if we were serious. We said we were. That we really were sorry.

Then we often hugged.

And let me tell you, hugging someone after apologizing for the church having told them a false narrative of damnation their whole lives, hugging a person after that apology... that is one serious hug.

One of my friends on Facebook noted that I was not the sort of Christian who needed to apologize, that I had been affirming before he had even learned to affirm himself as a bisexual. I was reminded of one of my favorite lectures David Fleer would give in the Old Testament Survey class at Rochester College, a class for which I was the tutor for several years.

He would talk about what slavery actually looked like in America in the south. He would tell a story of a young woman who worked hard all day until her fingers bled, who had been sold and traded over and over again. And then he would talk about her master climbing into her bed and demanding the last scrap of humanity she had left.

Then he would say, "Tell me, don't you think someone needs to say, 'I'm sorry,' when it comes to horror like that? Don't you think we bear a responsibility to do something today in response to such monstrosity?"

And we, young evangelicals who had been told that reparations were a liberal fantasy, would gulp and say, "Yes. Absolutely."

He told this story to illustrate the story of Nehemiah, the prophet who helped the people rebuild Jerusalem but who led them first to confess the sins of their ancestors. He did this to make it clear why it might be a good idea to stand up and apologize for the wrongs of those who went before you.

At one point, someone sent me to go get something, and so I went on a short walk around Grand Rapids in my clerical collar with a white t-shirt over top saying, "I'm sorry." It felt like a scarlet letter. People looked and often seemed confused. One young woman asked what I was doing and I explained, "I'm part of a group who wants to say I'm sorry because the church has done tremendous harm to the GLBTQ community." She said, "Oh, wow. That's really cool."

I wore that shirt because I do believe the church needs to say I'm sorry. Don't get me wrong, there are lots of good things going on today. There were probably four or five booths inside the festival that were set up by churches who were there to proclaim welcome and acceptance.

But a lot of people have been really hurt by the church. And so, before they go into that festival, before they hear the words of welcome, I think they did need to hear some Christians say, "I'm sorry. I really am sorry."

And I wore that shirt for the times I have failed. I wore that shirt for the gay slurs I used when I was a foolish middle-school student, slurs I used against someone who wound up, a few years later, becoming one of my closest friends. I wore that shirt for an ex-girlfriend from my teenage years who I later met, for when she told me she was a lesbian and I questioned how she could say that and be a Christian. I wore that shirt because, despite my position today, I have screwed this thing up royally in the past.

I was sorry. I am sorry. I am so deeply and profoundly sorry.

Anytime someone said hello or thank you to our group, my friend Todd would respond, "I'm sorry." I tried to do it to, but it was hard. Our culture is horrible at apologizing, but eventually I got the hang of it. Three older people would walk by and one would say, "Thank you for this." I learned to respond, "You're welcome. I really am sorry. I truly am."

Over and over again, people would hear this, would read our signs, and would start tearing up.

Tears, beloved. Today was a day of tears.

I think I was almost in a dream today. I was in a place, like an orphanage, that was filled with children who had been rejected by God's family, children who had been rejected over and over and over again. And we stood up and acknowledged that. We acknowledged that there needed to be some repentance here, some actual declaration that the body of Christ had truly failed on this thing.

Because this community, this strange and diverse GLBTQ community had continued the Body of Christ after the larger Body had sought to cut it off. They created their own community, their own sense of pride and wonder in all of God's wonderfully fantastic and glorious creations. Some Christians thought this community was different, but we were wrong. It was a part of Christ's body that had been lopped off due to ignorance and prejudice.

Today we said I'm sorry.

Today we asked that other part of the Body if they would welcome us home.

Because they are the ones who now hold our salvation.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Longing for Reconciliation: A Reflection on Communion Regardless of Baptism

On Facebook yesterday, I posted an article by Bishop Matthew Gunter of the Diocese of Fond du Lac, entitled, "Baptized into Eucharist—The Problem with 'Open Communion,' Some Anecdotes." In it, Bishop Gunter shares some of his experiences with this question as a priest, experiences that I found refreshing because they so honestly depicted what this actually looks like on the ground in the average parish.

The idea that those who oppose Communion Regardless of Baptism (or CROB, my preferred term, particularly since "Open Communion" already has a defined ecumenical meaning and is something the Episcopal joyfully practices and that other traditions, particularly Roman Catholics, reject), the idea that we are somehow checking cards at the rail or even turning away from the rail someone we know to be unbaptized is not only untrue, it is disingenuous to the pastoral training and approach of most every cleric in our church. This is not a question that is answered at the rail—it is one answered in the pastoral relationships that flow from the rail.

So, I thought it was a good article.

In particular, I loved the quote from Bishop Rowan Williams, retired Archbishop of Canterbury,
It must be said, of course, that this complete sharing of baptismal and Eucharistic life does not happen rapidly or easily, and the problem remains of how the church is to show its openness without simply abandoning its explicit commitment to the one focal interpretive story of Jesus. To share Eucharistic communion with someone unbaptized, or committed to another story or system, is odd-not because the sacrament is 'profaned', or because grace cannot he be given to those outside the household, but because the symbolic integrity of the Eucharist depends upon its being celebrated by those who both commit themselves to the paradigm of Jesus' death and resurrection and acknowledge that their violence is violence offered to Jesus. All their betrayals are to be understood as betrayals of him; and through that understanding comes forgiveness and hope. Those who do not so understand themselves and their sin or their loss will not make the same identification of their victims with Jesus, nor will they necessarily understand their hope for their vocation in relation to him and his community. Their participation is thus anomalous: it is hard to see the meaning of what is being done.
–  Rowan Williams, Resurrection: Interpreting the Easter Gospel, p. 61
Now, I've written about the question of Communion regardless of Baptism before ("A Slight Rant on Current Arguments for CROB"). In that essay I not only expressed my frustration at the straw men advocates of CROB often trot out, but I argued that CROB was actually a diversionary tactic by a Christianity that has become too timid to proclaim a real welcome into our homes for meals.

Indeed, over and over again people argue that Jesus practiced radically open table fellowship, that this is the the fundamental point undergirding communing the unbaptized. However, strangely enough, those same people rarely make the argument that Jesus' table fellowship mean we should start inviting all people into our homes for meals (which would be the more natural conclusion).

Interestingly, I have even had advocates of CROB criticize me for two programs I lead in local bars, one a "Theology on Tap" and the other a "Whiskey School." They have criticized the presence of alcohol at events I host—though I am careful in both to be very clear that neither is an activity of our local Episcopal parish and are simply events I host on my own as a priest. To me, events like this are the actual outgrowth of Jesus' practices of table-fellowship (and why he was criticized for it as well). These events put me in touch with people I would likely never meet in another situation, they are opportunities for relationship to begin.

Radical table-fellowship, as Jesus practiced it, is about an invitation to relationship. That invitation should be broad and expansive, heading out into all sorts of places that might be seedy and questionable.  I believe in radical table-fellowship—I simply believe that CROB is a wimpy way out that still assumes the best way to reach out to the unbaptized is when they wander into one of our churches.

However, there is a deeper question that I want to explore right now, one that was raised on the Facebook post.

I think that one of the items I find unfortunate is that this question gets discussed in the question of "inclusion vs. exclusion" as though communion of the unbaptized is necessarily an exclusionary approach and welcoming the unbaptized to receive the sacrament is always an inclusionary approach. The church should be about including all people, the argument goes, so we should include all people in Holy Eucharist.

First off, I think that this position is in error because it places the question of inclusion at the center of what it means to be church. Of course, the idea that Christians should be inclusive is indeed central to much of the rhetoric in the Episcopal Church these days... but it seems to me that inclusion, in and of itself, is not a fundamental Gospel concept.

Instead, the primary question, for me, is "reconciliation." Reconciliation is the ministry of the church. In the words of the BCP, our mission is "to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ" (BCP 855). Or, as this is rather eloquently put in the Second Letter to the Corinthians (5:16–20):
From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. 
God has been bold and reckless, loving us when we were yet sinners and entrusting us, as the Body of Christ in the world, with the ministry of reconciliation, with restoring all the brokenness of this world—both the brokenness of our relationships with each other and creation and the brokenness of our relationships with the divine.

With reconciliation standing at the center of who we are as Christians, the conversation about the Eucharistic table becomes slightly different. The fundamental question becomes, which better enacts and effects the church's ministry of reconciliation, the inviting of the unbaptized to join in the Eucharistic act or the maintaining of baptism as what invites us into that Eucharistic act?

Honestly, to me, the welcome to receive a blessing and kneel alongside Christians, to me, is a reconciling act. We bless freely and with abandon at the Eucharistic table, declaring God's love over all people and all things. That is a profound statement of grace.

And by stating in our rubrics and our bulletins that all people are welcome to the altar—all people—either to receive a blessing or the sacrament, we are practicing profound welcome. Because by maintaining the distinction between blessing and the sacrament, we are saying that full reconciliation (our being made one with you) would involve something more. By acknowledging distinction we honor those who are not Christian and create space for reconciliation, if the person desires it.

That is, to welcome the unbaptized to receive communion seems, to me, to enact a community that is not authentic. By practicing an easy inclusion—one that comes at no real cost, other than making people like me grumpy—the deeper opportunities for reconciliation are brushed under the rug and avoided. As much as I love non-Christians and pagans, as much as I adore reading about Hinduism and Buddhism, as much respect as I have for the traditions of Judaism and Islam, I am not one with those religions. They are not one with me.

Don't get me wrong, it could be that in the end of all existence, when we are all caught up in divine love, we will all wind up united anyway and hell will be emptied by the thunderous love of God. Heck, that's actually what I hope will be the case. It's actually what I believe is the most likely end.

But I am called to live authentically today. And that means acknowledging difference where difference exists. That means honoring and loving those who do not practice the Christian faith—not inviting them to pretend they are Christians by joining in the sacramental act that is central to what it means to be a Christian.

Because Christians are those who have died to self and been united with Christ's body through the act of baptism. Holy Eucharist is our constant experience of uniting ourselves (through the symbols of our gifts of bread and wine) to Christ's sacrifice on the cross, a union that flows from our baptismal identification with Christ's death.

In Holy Eucharist, we receive the body and blood of Christ precisely because we are one body in Christ. As we say in the sending out of Eucharistic Visitors, "We who are many are one body because we share one bread and one cup." Or, as the ancient words of St. Augustine at communion, used at the invitation to communion by the Society of St. John the Evangelist, "Behold what you are.  May we become what we receive." For the unbaptized, this is not yet what they are. This is not the end to which they point.

Those who are not Christian are not a part of the Body of Christ. That does not mean they are not a part of God's activity in the world. Any theologian worth her or his salt will tell you that. It just means they are not incorporated into Christ, into this particular manifestation of God in the world that we, as Christians, have chosen to call true.

And this raises one final point—a liturgical point, but one that I believe is absolutely essential.

There is a slight idea present in CROB, I think, an idea that forgets that it is the assembled Body of Christ who, through invocation of the Spirit, effect the Sacrament of Holy Eucharist. It is not the priest. The priest is simply the presider for the people. It is the community that makes the sacrament "happen." We give ourselves to God once more and God turns our gifts of ourselves—through bread and wine—into the Christ we follow, inviting us to feed on Christ. We are all priests, a kingdom of priests, gathered around the altar.

The unbaptized may be bystanders in this experience. They may see it and be profoundly moved, deeply drawn to God becoming flesh once more through bread and wine, prayer and praise. But they are not yet a part of the kingdom of priests who make this happen, they are not incorporated into the body which calls God to be present.

When the priest offers the sacrament to the unbaptized, the priest not only robs the laity of their voice in the governance of the church (since the laity have a clear voice in determining, though General Convention and, from that, the canons and the Book of Common Prayer, who may or may not receive the Sacrament), but they also rob the unbaptized of the experience of actual incorporation into the kingdom of priests who are able to call upon Christ's presence to greet them at each act of Holy Communion.

By collapsing distinction, they remove the possibility for reconciliation and incorporation into the Body. By saying they are already a part of us, they rob the unbaptized of the experience of what it feels like to become a part of us.

We had this happen at my church. We had a young woman, a nursery care worker, who fell in love with the community here. She wound up resigning as a worker so she could be a worshipping member of the community in the Nave every Sunday. She took communion once or twice and rejoiced in her new journey. She then discovered she was not baptized and came to me. We talked. I told her not to worry, she had not committed sin or error, that she was now simply being invited by God to journey deeper. She entered the catechumenate in our church. For several months she did not receive the Sacrament, but a blessing instead. She journeyed through the catechumenate, building relationships with baptized members who were  preparing for the reaffirmation of their own baptismal vows.

And then, on the Great Vigil of Easter, she was plunged into a big feeding trough filled with cold water. She truly felt like she was dying, she later told me. She rose up from the water and the bishop rubbed scented oil on her head. The candidates for reaffirmation then came around her, wrapping her in clean white towels, welcoming her among them, welcoming her among us.

Then, gathered with the community, she now joined us in calling upon her Lord to be present. She now came to the altar, fully a part of Christ's body. She received bread and wine as a part of the body of Christ. She became reconciled and restored, a part of Christ's body in the world. She died to herself, laid herself on that altar, and then received back new life in bread and wine in a body and blood that was a part of her as a member of Christ's body.

And now her husband has started coming. Now he wants to know when the next catechumenate will open. Now he wants to be reconciled with Christ, to become part of Christ's body.

She hungered and then she was fed. He is hungry and he will be fed because the church welcomes all to these baptismal waters.

But if there is no opportunity for hunger, the feeding will never be as sweet.

And if we simply include everyone who comes then, I fear, the moment and opportunity for true and deep reconciliation will be lost.

I tried my hand at the Bible, tried my hand at prayer, but now nothing but the water is gonna bring my soul to bear. 

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

The Inherently Christian Choice of Free Love

My June 3, 2015, column for the Grand Haven Tribune, "The inherently Christian choice of free love,"
Earlier this month, in Garland, Texas, an activist named Pamela Gellar sponsored an event called “Jihad Watch Muhammad Art Exhibit and Cartoon Contest.”

She did this because she believes America is facing a dangerous “Islamization.” She believes Muslims are seeking to impose the practice of their religion on society. She believes we are facing a war and she uses violent language to describe her understanding of the situation.

Due to the vitriol and misrepresentation in her views, the Southern Poverty Law Center now lists her organization as a hate group...

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Thoughtfully Reflective Prayer Book Revision #TractSwarm Three

This post is an answer to the call of the SCP for a third #TractSwarm, this one on the subject of prayerbook revision. 

A couple of months ago, I was at the Province V Synod meeting in Chicago. After a conversation about what is coming at General Convention, as we were walking to dinner, I was talking with a few bishops. I mentioned how I believed that the time was right to start the process of prayer book revision.

All three looked at me and said, in one way or another, "Not again in my ministry."

Having lived through the experience of the 1979 prayer book revision, none of these bishops were not keen living through another one. I could imagine they probably wanted to pat my head, "Oh you lovely young priest, if only you knew what it is you're asking for."

One of the reasons the 1979 Book of Common Prayer was a controversial revision, I believe, is that it was trying to be a prescriptive revision. Not only was it a significant reorientation of the shape of our liturgical practice, but it was trying to do things that only existed in a few places at the time. It took the best of mid-twentieth century liturgical scholarship and produced one of the finest liturgical texts to come out of the Liturgical Renewal movement, embodying the ideals and vision of that movement, particularly in the areas of ecumenical consensus and a return to historic texts.

To wit, it was trying to shift—rather significantly—the way the average Episcopalian worshipped.

I am one of those who believe it is indeed time to begin the process of preparing for revision to the 1979 prayer book. However, I don't think what is called for today is a revision of our liturgies in light of new advances in liturgical scholarship and theology—at least not primarily. I think we need prayer book revision because so many parishes in our church already are doing some things remarkably differently than the current BCP prescribes. We don't need to make significant changes to the way the average Episcopalian worships—we need a prayer book that reflects, in a considered way, the way the average Episcopalian today worships.

What we need is descriptive or reflective prayer book revision. We need revision that engages the actual lived practice of our various congregations and then places that practice into conversation with the current movements and streams of liturgical theology, a revision that places current practices in conversation with the broader community and the best of today's scholarship. Following that work, a revised prayer book could then articulate what the bounds, limits, and shape of our worship at the beginning of the 21st century should be.

And I believe there are two fundamental and significant issues pushing us to undertake this work.

The first issue is the question of what we believe about marriage. Same-sex marriage is increasingly becoming the norm and I heartily commend the Task Force on Marriage for, what I believe, has been excellent work. I used the provisional liturgy for blessing same-sex relationships last year and found the experience to be holy and a profound honor.

However, the current BCP is very clear that "Christian marriage is a solemn and public covenant between a man and a woman in the presence of God" (BCP 422). This makes me uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable with this line being in a prayer book that is supposed to be common to all Episcolians.

Furthermore, I believe that we have, in some ways, gotten the cart before the horse by moving forward all over the place with affirming same-sex relationships without addressing what our prayerbook says. Now this is often, of course, how the Spirit works. When the Spirit fell on the Gentile believers in Acts 15, Peter did not say, "Wait, we must first change the rules and get them baptized!" However, he did baptize them. He did regularize and normalize what the Spirit was already doing and then, going forward, a new practice was used.

It very could be that we wouldn't be where we are today if it weren't for bold and prophetic choices in the past couple decades. Absolutely. However, I also resonate with those who say they struggle with the church consecrating a bishop, for example, who is in a relationship the church has not also declared can be blessed. It's great for that bishop to be affirmed... but what about the thousands of GLBTQ members who are looking for the church to acknowledge the holiness of their relationships, too?

Now is the time to begin the process of regularizing. The marriage liturgy should be updated and, most importantly, it should be clear that we, as Episcopalians, believe that "Christian marriage is a solemn and public covenant between two persons in the presence of God."

That doesn't force anyone to affirm same-sex unions, it just enlarges the breadth of our prayer book. Those who hold a conservative view are not in disagreement with the idea that marriage is a covenant between two persons, they just want to add to that claim. They can have a gender-neutral liturgy and continue to hold their views—the change just gives rooms for those of us to disagree to do so and still use the same book. This is the genius and goal of the Anglican approach to liturgy, after all—to find ways to use language in worship wherein those with different, even contradictory, views can still worship together.

Our prayer book should reflect who we are and what we believe about God and the church. The current separate but equal approach is not, to me, tenable any longer.

Gendered Language
The other question that I do think we need to pick up is the use of gendered pronouns in our corporate worship. It is now very common to be at an Episcopal Church and hear the Celebrant call out, "Blessed be God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit," and the People respond, "And blessed be God's kingdom, now and for ever, amen."

Which is not, of course, what the prayer book says. The prayer book says, "And blessed be his kingdom, now and for ever, amen."

I want to be very clear, I strongly support the use of non-gendered pronouns to refer to God. I have no problem with the content of the substitution many people are making to the opening acclamation—however, I think this change needs to stop being a small (and minor) violation of the language of the prayer book and needs to be the actual authorized liturgy of this church.

The reason I don't use that language in my own worship is not only because of my personal beliefs about the importance of upholding the prayer book. It is also because if I do it, it is too easy for me to be content with what I am doing and forget that there are other places in the church where this change simply is not happening. There are other places in the church where little girls and boys grow up thinking God must be a "he."

So, I use our current authorized gendered-language because it makes me uncomfortable. It forces me to continue to ask why we haven't fixed this, why we haven't changed this yet.

Now, when it comes to actual gendered images of God—apart from pronouns—I am for more, not less. I believe in affirming the traditional image of the Trinity, while also holding up other orthodox images for God. Bob Hughes in his book Beloved Dust does this amplification of images in a way that is both lovely and orthodox. He describes the Father as the "Fount," leaning upon the tradition's understanding that the Father is the source of all things, including the eternally begotten Son and the for ever proceeding Spirit.

And though some would prefer us to move to entirely gender-neutral language, I don't think that's helpful either. Because the feminine images for the divine are also powerful and essential to the Christian tradition. Our liturgy should invite us to worship a God who is also mother. Other images in the tradition about Christ as the mother who nourishes us as pure milk (Anselm) or God as the woman who gave birth to a people (Hosea, among other prophets) are rich images to be claimed.

The problem with doing this in small pockets without engaging our authorized texts is that the theology and images get a little mixed up, at times. This is why we need the best contemporary liturgical scholars, Biblical scholars, theologians, poets, and writers to work together not only to cleanup unnecessary gendered pronouns in our liturgy but help us find good ways of amplifying and using the various images for God present in Scripture and tradition.

Other Important Questions
The questions of the marriage liturgy and gendered language are, to me, essential for consideration now because so much of the church is already operating in a way outside of the bounds of the prayer book. Revision is needed so that our official liturgy describes what our community actually thinks and believes about God and the world.

However, these are not the only questions that should be considered.

Multi-Cultural Realities
Attention should also be paid to the multi-cultural nature of our church. As I have begun moving among the Latino currents of the Episcopal Church, I have heard at times that Latino clergy and seminarians feel like the current book is more Anglo than it needs to be. No matter the language it is translated into, it still seems, to some, to reflect a specific culture that feels foreign. I am not qualified to make that assessment on my own, but careful attention should be paid to ensure that our authorized liturgy is one that is embracing of all cultures through more than mere translation of English idiom into Spanish. Liturgical scholars and clergy from other cultural realities need to be a part of leading this work.

Attention should be paid to the current confirmation liturgy. In one of the trial liturgies before the 1979 book, this was written as a simply liturgy for the Reaffirmation of Baptismal Vows. Bishops worried, however, that if that happened they wouldn't have anything to do. The current liturgy maintains a theology of reaffirmation (not completion) of baptism, but does so in a way that at times seems slightly confused about how important confirmation actually is or is not. Certainly, in the actual practice of parish and diocese, there is a good amount of confusion about how important confirmation actually is. (If you're interested in looking more closely at the practice of English Christianity on this question, I'd not so humbly commend the paper I wrote on the subject a couple of years ago as a part of my D.Min. work.)

Flowing from this, attention to be paid to our understandings of baptism. The 1979 prayer book was heavily influenced by the liturgical movement and the emerging ecumenical consensus on baptism. Thus, as many a confirmation class has heard, baptism is at the heart of our prayer book. The Book of Occasional Services took this one step further with the development of resources for the catechumenate. The current BCP encourages baptism to be limited to four baptismal days (and the occasion of the bishop's visit). That is, baptism is not seen as something easy to get into, but something that requires preparation of either the candidates or the sponsors of child candidates.

But there are streams starting to push against that. There are congregations of clergy and laity saying the rules have become too restrictive, asking, "Why wouldn't we baptize anyone who wanted to be baptized and let catechesis come after that?" And, of course, there are those who argue for reception of communion being at least allowed as an initiatory or converting ritual with baptism following later.

We need to (continue to) wrestle with these questions as a community. We need to decide if we hold up baptism as a moment of entry after a process of preparation, or if we hold it up as an entry point offered to anyone without regard to preparation–something to be offered freely and liberally, or if we hold baptism up as a proclamation of a reality that can come after one has already become a communicating part of the worshipping community.

The current confusion regarding baptismal practice is not helpful—particularly for newcomers who, thus, often feel as though they are at the whims of the proclivities of the clergy of the church they come into.

Concluding Thoughts
There are those who would prefer we move the direction of our sisters and brothers in the Church of England. Retain one authorized Book of Common Prayer but then authorize several supplemental liturgies that bring significant breadth of options to the church. That way everyone can kind of have what they want. And I suppose that is one approach.

But I know one thing that I have not enjoyed about my trips to England is never quite knowing what I will get in worship. If I go to a cathedral, I'll likely get the Anglican liturgy I largely know and with which I am familiar. However, the more one ventures into parishes across the country, the more diversity crops up. And I, at least, have not always found that diversity to be uplifting.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely do believe that one of the riches of the Anglican tradition is our affirmation of diversity, of the idea that catholic and protestant, liberal and conservative, can all come together for worship. But that diversity is founded on the idea that we are, at the very least, united by our common prayer.

I don't think we are ready to finalize any of the issues I've raised. But I do believe it is time to begin, in earnest, talking about them not only as liturgical questions, but with a goal of reaching a point where we can come out with a revised prayer book that is indeed reflective of all the riches the Episcopal Church has to offer.