Anglican Smack-Down
by Diana Butler Bass
Like most Christians, I don't pay attention to missives from
church
leaders. This week, however, dueling pastoral letters issued for
Pentecost from Rowan Williams, the Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury,
and Katharine Jefferts Schori, the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal
Church, caught my attention--because one so rarely witnesses a
first-class theological smack down between tea-drinking Anglican
primates.
Unless you've been sleeping in a cave, you are probably aware that the
Episcopal Church (of which I am a member) has been arguing about the
role of LGBT persons in the church. Along with the Anglican Church of
Canada, the Episcopal Church has opened itself toward full inclusion of
gay and lesbian Christians. Here in North America, this has caused some
defections (fewer than at first predicted), some legal suits (most have
been settled in favor of the Episcopal Church), monetary fallout (hard
to separate from general economic downturn), and bad feelings (which,
sadly enough, remain). But what is most surprising--and I regularly
hear this from bishops, clergy, and congregational lay leaders--is that
things are much less tense in the Episcopal Church now than they have
been in recent years. Folks are moving ahead in their local parishes
doing the sorts of things that Episcopalians are pretty good at
doing--creating beautiful worship, praying together, and feeding hungry
people.
Despite that fact that the Episcopalians are bumpily journeying into a
renewed future, some other Anglicans--mostly in Africa--are pretty mad
that we've included our gay and lesbian friends and relatives in our
churches. Large communities of Anglicans in places like Uganda (the
same Uganda that recently tried to pass a death-penalty law for gay
people) and Malawi (the same Malawi that recently sentenced a gay couple
who wanted to marry to 14-years hard labor) are seriously unhappy with
American Episcopalians and Canadian Anglicans.
And this leads us to the Pentecost pastoral letters.
While (somewhat ironically) attending a conference in Washington, DC
entitled "Building Bridges," Rowan Williams sent out his Pentecost
letter to Anglicans worldwide which, after saying a lot of nice things
about missions and diversity, pulls rank and proclaims that he's going
to kick people off important committees whose national churches have
violated a controversial document called the Anglican Covenant. This
includes the Canadians (who let gay Christians get married) and the
Americans (who recently ordained a lesbian bishop in Los Angeles) and
some Africans (who ordained some Americans who were splitting churches
in places like Virginia and Pennsylvania).
In response, Katharine Jefferts Schori essentially, but in a nice sort
of Anglican way, accused Williams of being a theological dictator--or,
as she says in understated fashion, "Unitary control does not
characterize Anglicanism." For non-Anglicans, trust me, those are
fightin' words.
This is not a conservative/liberal argument (both Rowan Williams and
Katharine Jefferts Schori are theologically liberal). This is a fight
between rival versions of Anglicanism--a quarrel extending to the
beginning of Anglicanism that has replayed itself periodically through
the centuries down to our own time.
Rowan Williams' letter articulates "top-down Anglicanism," a version of
the faith that is hierarchical, bishop-centered, concerned with
organizational control, and authoritarian. It is an old vision that
vests the identity of the church in a chain of authority in the hands of
ecclesiastical guardians who agree on "a coherent Anglican identity"
and then enforce the boundaries of that identity through legal means.
This version of Anglicanism stretches back through the Middle Ages and
relates to similar forms of Christianity as found in Roman Catholicism
and some forms of Eastern Orthodoxy.
Katharine Jefferts Schori's letter speaks for "bottom-up Anglicanism," a
version of the faith that is democratic, parish-based,
mission-oriented, and (even) revolutionary. It is also an old vision,
one that vests the identity of the church in local communities of
Anglicans at prayer, who adapt their way of life and liturgy according
to the needs of Christian mission. This version of Anglicanism is
rooted in both the ancient Celtic traditions of English Christianity and
the missionary work of St. Augustine of Canterbury circa 600.
As history unfolded, different cultures have picked up on one or the
other of these two streams--for example, the British church remains
primarily hierarchical (even referring to their bishops as "My Lord
Bishop"); while the American church is primarily democratic ("God alone
is the Lord"). The Ugandan church is authoritarian; while the South
African church is revolutionary. The Anglicans in Sydney, Australia are
boundary-oriented and communally closed; while most other Anglicans in
Australia are liturgically-oriented and open (the Anglicans in Darwin,
Australia are so open that their cathedral doesn't even have walls).
At its best, Anglicanism manages the polarities between these
tensions--often creating locally innovative expressions of a church that
is both hierarchical and democratic, bishop and parish centered,
bounded and liturgically open at the same time. Over the centuries,
this has been called the Anglican art of comprehension, or the via media
(the "middle way").
But once every few hundred years, the tensions explode. This is one of
those times.
The argument isn't really about gay and lesbian people nor is it about,
as some people claim, the Bible or orthodoxy. Rather, the argument
reprises the oldest conflict within Anglicanism--What kind of Anglicans
are we to be? How do we relate to the world and culture around us? And
very specifically now: What kind of Anglicans are we to be in the 21st
century? And how to we relate to the plurality of cultures in which we
find ourselves?
Set in this frame, this isn't just an Anglican argument. Roman
Catholics, Orthodox Christians, Protestants of all sorts, Jews,
Buddhists, and Muslims are having the same arguments within their
varying traditions and cultures. What kind of religious faith are we to
practice in the 21st century? And how do we relate to the plurality of
cultures in which we each find ourselves?
For what it is worth, the river of history does not seem to be on the
side of hierarchical church control; rather, history seems to be moving
in a the direction of what Thomas Friedman might call "flat church."
The tides are pulling most ecclesiastical boats toward bottom-up
versions of faith. Hierarchical church control is, as Harvey Cox argues
in his book The Future of Faith, a "rearguard attempt to stem a more
sweeping tidal change" toward a new experiential, inclusive, and
liberationist view of God and faith.
Despite their smack down, I think that
Rowan Williams and Katharine
Jefferts Schori might actually agree on the fundamental questions of
identity, mission, and 21st century change. I also suspect that Rowan
Williams would secretly find the "sweeping tidal change" more
spiritually interesting than trying to keep the Anglican institutional
ship afloat in the waters. But he thinks that he's in charge--and
he'll be captain of his Titanic until the lass for me, I kinda like this American Episcopal river raft. Better for
navigating strong currents.